Eternity
by Ambular1013
Summary: After five long years since he'd first seduced her in his enigmatic lair with his dark music, Erik, the infamous Phantom of the Opera, is reunited with Christine, his angel. Despite their tumultuous past, will the two ill-fated lovers finally become one?
1. Prologue

**Eternity**

_**Prologue**_

_Paris, May 1886_

"Why did you do it, Christine?" His soft yet serious voice seemed to echo throughout the suddenly small room.

Christine, staring out at the stormy night, tensed. She knew exactly what he was speaking of and yet she truly wasn't sure if she was ready to discuss that heart wrenching night from all those years ago. _But you must!_

Suddenly, the gloomy night seemed a reflection of the emotions that were inescapably building inside her.

She turned to him. "What," she simply asked.

Erik rose from the chair he'd been sitting in. He was an incredibly intimidating man, purely because of his physique alone. He was much taller than she and the intensity of his masculine physique complimented the power of his entire being. He was a magnificently beautiful man with midnight black hair and light amber eyes.

He was one of perfection in Christine's mind, despite the deformity on the right side of his face that marred him imperfect and hideous in the eyes of society. It was this deformity that led to his wearing of a white leather mask on that side of his face. _A mask that desolately defined him throughout his entire life,_ she thought miserably.

He walked toward her and asked her once again. "Why, in front of all of Paris, did you tear my mask from my face that night of _Don Juan Triumphant_?" His voice sounded of a quiet desperation, of a subtle anger, an emotion that she'd become so familiar with over the past years. "Why, Christine, knowing that that moment would be my greatest humiliation and demise?"

Christine was silent for some time. She had absolutely no idea how to convey her thoughts, her feelings, to this man whom she felt so much for, as she wished she could, as she felt she truly could.

She turned back toward the window, unable to look into the hauntingly beautiful eyes of the man she'd so passionately longed for. His voice, his spirit, intimidated her enough. But those eyes had become her weakness.

She was just a petite, young woman, and only the mere age of two and twenty. Yet so much had occurred in her short life. So much despair. _Too much despair._ She was the contrasting light to Erik's darkness. She had brown hair that fell into an abundant of tiny ringlets. Her eyes were a light hazel and her skin the palest white. Yet, despite her beauty, her light, she'd always felt a sadness, an emptiness. She wondered if it were these feelings of loneliness that caused her to return to him so many years later.

She finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I felt a myriad of emotions that night, Erik. Anger…fear…desperation…despair. I knew it was you on that stage with me. I was frightened. Not only of the eternal passion your voice and touch brought out in me, but of your ultimate doom once you would be found out. I…I had to save you!"

Her impassioned emotions finally took over, her soft and timid voice becoming more powerful. "I knew…I knew that if I had exposed you completely that you would go mad, that you would leave and…take me with you. It was the only way I knew how to protect you! They were going to kill you!"

She turned to him. Her voice had become more intense and desperate, angry, as she finished her bold admission, her sudden courage surprising herself. She was very much a woman now standing here in front of him and she needed him.

No longer was she the lost, lonely little girl he'd deceived for so many years, the lost young girl who couldn't handle his passion, his dark soul.

No longer was she afraid to speak the truth, to confront him…_to love him._

*******

Erik was terrified as he desperately listened to his impassioned angel. For what would happen if he was to lose her again after all these years?

She continued, never taking her eyes off him. "Yet, I hated you! Once again you deceived me, betrayed me on that very stage! In the very opera you had so passionately written for me! But I couldn't let them kill the beautiful man who gave me my voice, my very soul! I knew that if you took me with you they wouldn't have had that chance to…to kill you." She began choking on her words, completely distraught. "Raoul never would have allowed them to shoot you with me so close. It would have been too much of a risk on my life. I never would have thought you would have been so daring and foolish enough to join me on that stage knowing all of Paris was on the hunt for you!"

She moved closer to him, her voice becoming a passionate whisper, the same voice Erik had fallen in love with all those years ago. "Yet, despite everything, the betrayal I felt, your deception, I can never forget that passion, the passion that only you could emerge from the depths of my soul. Not only that night, Erik, but the night after my debut performance when you revealed yourself to me for that first time and abducted me to your lair…and seduced me with your music," she murmured, gazing into his frightened eyes.

"Christine." Erik reached his hand out to caress her cheek but she abruptly stepped back.

"No! I must say this! I have wanted to tell you for five long years how I have felt! Before, I was an innocent, naïve young child. I was utterly hopeless, lost…alone. Now, however, I am very much a young woman and we both deserve the truth! For years I truly thought you were the Angel of Music my father so fantastically spoke of when I was a young girl. You taught me so much throughout my years of loneliness. You were truly…the only friend I had ever known, except for Raoul, of course."

Erik flinched at the mention of his rival once more. Yet he knew that if he ever had the chance to be with Christine once again, whether as a lover or friend, he would have to let her speak. For what if she never forgave him? In his entire two and forty years he'd never been so incredibly petrified.

"You were all I had," she continued. "How could I have known that through it all, the years of growing and laughing and loving together through music, that you were a flesh and blood man? When you revealed yourself to me that night I was ecstatic, mesmerized and yet, reluctant. Not only were you a flesh and blood man, but you were the infamous opera ghost, the Phantom of the Opera! When you brought me down to your lair, to the depths of Hell itself it would seem to me sometime later, I didn't know what to think!"

She paused, clearly reflecting that erotic night, passion illuminating her hazel eyes. "So, I just felt and listened and became seduced, completely entranced by you! You intrigued me, terrified me! You were so very powerful with me! I wanted you…I desperately wanted you! In my mind we were two lost souls who were finally able to come together and become one, not only in music, but in mind, body and soul! You seduced me but I couldn't understand what I was feeling. It was all so incredibly overwhelming!" She began to cry, as if those haunting memories were too much to bear.

She looked up at him once more. "But I wanted you, Erik, with my entire being. That night I very much became a woman and I couldn't understand how…how my Angel of Music, no, the Phantom of the Opera, could bring out this wanton woman in me! I had never known nor felt such desire in my whole life. I was very much a woman that night, Erik." She uttered those final words softly. Erik had hardly heard them.

_Oh, Christine._

She was a woman that night and he had wanted her, no matter what it would take, he had to have her. How could he have been so incredibly foolish, so unbelievably selfish? Despite her being an impassioned woman that night she was still very much the lost and lonely girl trapped within, he'd just refused to see it.

She turned away from him and began pacing the candlelit room, her eyes becoming dark shadows, reflections of the dark truth they both wanted to forget, a dark truth that had inadvertently bound their souls together forever.

"Then the very next morning, the dream, the desire, ended." Her voice darkened with a disturbing anger that terrified him. "When my curiosity brought me to do the unthinkable act of ripping off your mask, it wasn't your face that terrified me as I had first thought, but your abrupt and dangerous reaction. You lashed out at me, yelled at me! I was just a young, innocent and confused girl, Erik! I hated you in that very moment yet I wanted to help you! I just wanted to hold you and…love you! I never wanted you to be lost and helpless like I had been throughout the years without my father. I just wanted to love you, to hope that you were everything I would ever want in life, but you never gave me that chance!"

She stopped pacing the room and turned toward him, her eyes displayed the very desire he remembered so well from the night he seduced her with his music. "You…I always wanted…you, Erik."

For what seemed an eternity they both stood facing another, neither daring to look away. She was incredibly beautiful in this moment. She loved him, she wanted to save him!

Yet Erik hated himself. Their entire relationship, whether it was one of a teacher and his student, a father to his daughter, a friend and companion, or perhaps even a lover to his one and only, had been one complete misunderstanding. Erik knew their myriad of relationships had been one false impression after another, a tremendous misapprehension that may have led to the permanent demise of their twisted and complicated love.

In the beginning he had only wanted to be that spirit, the Angel of Music, she had so desperately hoped would come to her and teach her the beauty of music. He'd been a father to a daughter, and a companion, while also being a teacher, a mentor. However, as the years went by and he found himself falling for the young woman she was becoming, Erik found himself wanting to become more than her friend, than her surrogate father. He wanted to be her lover, her soul. How could he possibly know that his budding love for the young soprano would possibly destroy them both?

Erik knew that this was the moment of truth. He knew he couldn't lose her again, he just couldn't!

Christine turned away from him. He walked toward her and placed his hands on her shoulders. He could feel her trembling. "Oh, Christine," he whispered in her ear.

Erik found himself trembling as well, fighting back the tears Christine seemed to be unable to withhold.

He drew in a deep breath. "That night when I first abducted you I was just as terrified, perhaps even more so. I had never known such feelings! I had never known passion and love until I found you, even if it had been unrequited," he murmured.

Christine flinched.

"I desperately wanted you! You had touched my soul, Christine!" He paused. "Yet, I didn't just desire your mind! I desired your body, your soul! I wanted everything from you. I knew I was being powerful with you. I knew how selfish I was being. I just…I just wanted you so damn much! I wanted the young, beautiful woman I knew you to be, with the angelic voice that I had fallen in love with." He paused once more, sighing. "I must admit that I had first fallen in love with your voice," he said with reluctance. _Forgive me, angel._

He was silent for some time, remembering that morning in his lair when she had ripped his mask from his face. He knew that that had been the defining moment in everything, the beginning of the terror, the confusion, everything horrific in their short lifetime together.

"Yet, that next morning after I had lashed out, after berating you, I found myself giving you my soul," he quietly continued. "I let you into my mind, revealing to you that despite living in Hell I truly wanted Heaven…with you. And in that very moment, the moment you courageously returned my mask, I fell in love with you, Christine. Not your voice or your beauty, but with you, Christine, the woman I had known and felt you'd become in that moment…in that night when I seduced you with my music, my soul…my body."

He slowly turned her to face him, tears streaming down her lovely cheeks. His eyes burned with his own. He lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. He wanted her to know he loved her still, that he'd always love her. He knew he was risking it all once again, but he wanted no more lies. He never wanted to hurt her again, to deceive her.

"That first night, all I wanted was to lay you down and make love to you," he ardently whispered. "I never meant to deceive you, to betray you…to hurt you. I love you, Christine. I love you so much it hurts. I love you more than my own life! I never meant to hurt you! I didn't know how to convey my love. I'm so sorry, my angel."

He looked deeply into her eyes knowing his longing for her reflected in his own. "All I knew was that I needed you. I still…need you."

Christine began sobbing and threw herself into his arms. He returned her embrace, wrapping his arms around her small waist with complete devotion. He never wanted to let her go.

"Oh, Erik," she whispered. "I have always loved you. I have always desired you…yet not as my Angel of Music or as the Phantom of the Opera, but as the flesh and blood man. Erik, you are very much a man and now…I am very much a woman. I may not understand everything of love and passion but I so would very much like to try."

She looked up into his eyes and caressed his masked cheek. "I love you, Erik," she whispered. "Make love to me, my beautiful man."

Erik gazed intently upon his angel. For years he'd dreamt of this moment. He was truly a flesh and blood man and she a flesh and blood woman. He'd always desired her, always loved her. No other living creature had ever possessed his heart, his soul, and he knew there'd never be another. He loved her with his entire being.

Tonight there would be no past, no future, just the present, an eternity, despite all that was still left unsaid. He began caressing her tear stained cheeks. Succumbing to the passion she alone stirred in him, he gazed into her invigorating eyes, innocent hazel eyes that bespoke of the passion she'd revealed only moments before. Of a passion that was without deception, a passion of complete truth.

Erik bent his head toward Christine, his lips lightly brushing against hers.

"Christine," he whispered, their souls becoming one in a passionate kiss.


	2. Return

_**Chapter One: Return**_

_Paris, June 1882_

Six months. It had been six grievous months since he'd lost everything. His home, if one could call the depths of the Paris Opera House home, his music, his soul, his Angel of Music…his Christine.

_Christine…_ The thought of his beautiful Angel of Music haunted his mind. He'd lost her. His madness and obsession led to her betrayal. At least, he had felt she betrayed him those months ago. And, yet, after months of tormenting his mind with endless possibilities of what he could have done differently to convince her to be with him, to love him, he'd finally come to realize that she'd never betrayed him. That she never wanted him. That she never loved him. It was him. It was his own disgraceful fault for her coming to hate him. Hate. Her words of hate echoed throughout his mind. She loved the Vicomte. She loved _Raoul._

Now, as he stood before the abandoned Opera House, he found himself pondering once again what could have been. He knew it was foolish to revisit the very place that continuously haunted his dreams. But, he had to know. In the end his curiosity had won out. What became of his Hell? Did the relentless mob who, only six months ago on that cold January night, seeking him out in desperation yelling "murderer" throughout the labyrinth beneath the Opera House, tear it to shreds once they found it? Did they leave it untouched in a possible act of pity? How could they? They deemed him a monster, a murderer. Yet, he had to know.

As he approached a carefully hidden door he found himself second-guessing his decision to return until he felt the gold ring around his small left finger, the ring he'd given to Christine in one final act of desperation the night of the one and only performance of his own opera, the ring that she piteously returned to him after he had…let her go. _Christine_…

His thoughts suddenly succumbed to his iniquitous opera, _Don Juan Triumphant_. An opera he'd written for her. An opera meant to convey his passionate and unconditional love for her. He'd expressed his undying feelings for Christine in the only possible way he knew how: through his music. He truly believed that his song, his music, would finally lead to her complete surrender. _What a pathetic fool you are_, he thought pitifully.

He entered the small door and instantly found himself immersed in darkness, a darkness that was much more wicked and drugging than the moonlit night. Ever the clever man, despite his abundant shortcomings, he found the candelabra that he himself had carefully hidden years ago, thankful it hadn't been misplaced in the insufferable disaster that had occurred that haunting night. Lighting the candle, he began his journey, knowing he'd foolishly submerge himself in memories he'd rather forget, though he knew it impossible. He was dressed completely in black, his cloak flowing behind him as he agonizingly walked through the underground labyrinth. He found himself touching his masked right cheek, perhaps out of instinct, perhaps in an action of mockery. A mask that defined his entire life or so he believed, until Christine. In the end, it had been his dark and twisted soul that defined him. Not his hideously disfigured face, as Christine so daringly declared to him as he pathetically attempted to force her to love him. If only he'd understood then, perhaps he still didn't understand. But, she was all that mattered and her deafening words hurt. _My soul, my obsessive and maddening soul_, he thought painfully.

After quite some time, he'd finally found himself standing before the lake, the lake which had mesmerized his beautiful angel one year ago to the date. Yes, he'd finally admitted his own intentions to himself. It was for her. Everything had always been for her…still was for her. It was exactly one year ago that the young chorus girl, Christine Daaé, his Angel of Music, had made her debut performance as prima donna in Chalumeau's _Hannibal_. It was that night that he'd first revealed himself to Christine as a flesh and blood man. He brought her down to his underworld and seduced her with his music. That night, his lair was no longer a Hell but a seductive sanctuary. He was no longer her Angel of Music, but the Phantom of the Opera as well, a living, breathing man. If only he'd known that Christine never truly desired a flesh and blood man, but a spirit, an angel. _Fool_.

Yet, she did desire a flesh and blood man, but not the infamous Phantom of the Opera, her Angel of Music. She desired _him_. The Vicomte de Chagny, her precious childhood love, Raoul. If only he'd known. He was extremely jealous of the Vicomte's sudden return in Christine's life, and in his furious desperation decided then and there to reveal himself to her completely that night in her dressing room, from behind her fanciful mirror. It had been a foolish risk, one, he'd wondered to this very night, that he never should have pursued. Yet, seeing another man bring a smile to his Christine's beautiful face had enraged him. The Vicomte's admiration, his sweet words of reminiscent times that swept Christine back to her blissful childhood, and her adoration in return, completely infuriated him. He'd had to have her. He had to reveal himself and prove to Christine that he was a worthy man as well, despite his hideous face. That she belonged to him.

He found himself pursuing the boat that lay upon the lake, placing the candelabra into the lantern that dangled from the front of it. This boat which had led Christine across the lake to his mysterious and bewitching lair while their voices entwined and his desperation for her and her voice immensely increased, the boat which led her to his hopeless Hell once again when he had foolishly and desperately abducted her once more, furious of her betrayal, of her deceit. _Oh, Christine_…_how incredibly wrong I had been…have been._ The boat which swept Christine away with her precious Raoul while he pathetically cried out his desperate pleas of love for her one last time, the boat which was last touched by his angel and the Vicomte while they sang to each other of their everlasting love for another. The very same declaration which he'd pathetically attempted to use in front of all of Paris when he found himself frantically confessing his love to Christine that very night, only moments before her alleged betrayal. He was a desperate fool that night. She'd revealed him to the audience after their impassioned singing of his aria written especially for her. He found himself trapped on that stage with her and in vast distress found himself repeating those same love words Christine and the Vicomte had echoed to another only months before on the rooftop of the Opera House. Perhaps she would have loved him then if she'd heard those same words coming from his lips, his pleading desperation. _What a fool. What a pathetic fool_.

He'd wondered if perhaps his abandoned Hell would perhaps still be as he had left it that ill-fated night. His boat had lain untouched and it would seem, from what he'd gathered throughout the underground caverns, that nothing had ever been touched. Perhaps it was too terrifying and surreal. After all, this was the threatening Phantom of the Opera who dwelled beneath the Opera House. Perhaps the revelation that he was a man, not an apparition, was too much to comprehend. Perhaps it was believed that he had been killed by the Vicomte, who had perhaps gallantly come to the young soprano's rescue. _If only they knew that it was she who had saved them. It was she who had sacrificed herself to save her precious Vicomte_.

After what seemed an eternity he found himself approaching the trellis, the threshold to his lair, his Hell. He found himself stopping the boat and just standing there in complete despair and…wonder. It lay completely untouched! The maddening lair that he'd called his home for years was exactly as he'd remembered it. _Impossible_, he thought, _absolutely impossible_.

Cautiously, through his incessant mysterious mystique, he found the trellis rising and slowly led the boat across the threshold. _Home_, he thought, _in spite of everything, this Hell had been his home...had brought him Christine, had lost him Christine._ Slowly he rowed the boat toward the lair and found himself warily approaching the beauty of his dark Hell, his mystical and mysterious organ. His music, his very soul…

*******

_Her heart was pounding as he sang his seductive words of his dark and alluring music, of his passionate plea for her to succumb to the darkness and embrace his erotically passionate world. She'd never been so mesmerized in her life, so alive, so incredibly impassioned. She could feel him slowly approaching her from behind as he demanded in an ever so bewitching voice that only she could belong to him. That once she succumbed to his invigorating darkness, once her soul succumbed to him and him alone, she'd belong to him completely._

_She was breathing heavily, utterly entangled in his erotic web. He wrapped his left arm around her body, completely covering her bare chest with his deft hand, pressing her body against his. She could feel an enormous bulge against her backside, the same bulge she had felt when he'd provocatively laid himself across the trellis only moments before and coyly embraced her. Completely enthralled by him, she had found herself swiftly walking toward his seductive body then, pursuing his lips, when his right arm had slipped around her waist and pressed her against him most erotically. When she'd felt this same bulge against her stomach that she now felt against her backside she'd suddenly succumbed to reality and desperately fled from him, shamelessly wondering what this bulge was…what was becoming of her. But, his demandingly passionate words had once again touched her very soul, the very core of her and she once again became completely entranced by him. She couldn't quite understand what it was that she'd felt against her stomach then, and once again became too enraptured by him to care. _

_Now, as he possessively stood behind her, she slowly came to realize that she'd never been touched so sensuously before, never felt so…awakened in her entire being of life. Was this truly her inevitable journey into her awakening of becoming a woman? As he finished his whispered, demanding words, his right arm came around her shockingly aroused body, taking her right hand in his and sensuously placing it on her most secret area, their hands temptingly entwined as one. His possessive hold held her completely hypnotized. She was his completely, body and soul._

_He continued his erotic and spellbinding song, holding her in his possessive embrace. She wanted him, she desperately wanted him. She couldn't understand these wanton feelings overwhelming her soul, her body, but she knew that in this moment, only he mattered. Her virginal innocence seemed to disappear completely while her womanly intuition emerged in complete surrender. _

_His hands began caressing her body. He seductively touched her breasts, her hips and waist. She continued to completely succumb when he demanded her to touch him, to trust him. She found herself slowly raising her right arm and caressing his masked right cheek. She'd never touched a man in such an erotic fashion, never wanted a man with such endless longing, until now. Once he finished his own journey of her unbelievably aroused body, he possessively, yet tenderly, took her hand in his and continued to lead her through this mysteriously seductive journey…_

Christine suddenly jolted from her slumberous sleep, completely entranced, flushed and trembling. _Angel…_ It had been exactly a year ago this night when her glorious Angel of Music, the infamous Phantom of the Opera she'd so hauntingly came to find, had abducted her from her dressing room and seduced her within his world of darkness and passion, with his music, his voice…his body. She truly believed that that night defined her as a woman. Yet how could she ever know of the dangers that lay ahead of her erotic and compelling night, the dangers that completely thrust her into womanhood, whether she was willing or not.

She lay in bed as she continued to dwell in those haunting memories, the memories of her Angel of Music, of the flesh and blood man. However, he wasn't just any man. He was the Phantom of the Opera. The legendary opera ghost who'd haunted the Paris Opera House for years. The alleged apparition who claimed to be her Angel of Music, the spirit her father so lovingly spoke of during her blissful childhood. The blissful childhood that ended abruptly when her father suddenly died and she found herself thrust into an unknown world: the Paris Opera House.

Remembering such bittersweet memories brought a tremulous smile to her face and her eyes burned with tears. She found herself climbing out of bed, putting on her lacy, rose colored dressing gown over her shear, white chemise and walking out onto her balcony, overlooking the humid night. She missed _him_. Despite everything, she missed him. She missed her Angel of Music. It had been six long months since that horrific night when her entire life seemed to come crashing down before her on the very stage that had brought her such sweet happiness only six months before, the stage that had brought her the return of her childhood sweetheart, Raoul, and the exciting revelation of her fantastical mentor, her Angel of Music.

Six months since she found herself performing in the Phantom's intensely erotic and passionate opera, _Don Juan Triumphant_. He'd cast her in the leading role of Aminta and despite her reluctance to perform, found herself in the role, in the midst of a trap that went horrifically wrong…because of her. That very night the trap had been set by the Opera House's managers, Messieurs Firmin and André, and Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny, her loving, aristocratic fiancé, to finally capture and ultimately kill the Phantom of the Opera, her tormented and demented Angel of Music. Yet, she'd never believed in her wildest dreams that he'd been foolish enough to take to the stage himself in the role of Don Juan and seduce her with his words of the inevitable passion that was to erupt between the two impassioned characters and perhaps themselves. How real it had felt on that stage, singing with her Angel of Music, singing his words he'd meant entirely for her, for them. It was truly the most erotic and terrifying moment of her life. She never meant to betray him…she wanted to save him…

Christine wrapped her arms around herself as she remembered once more those mesmerizing and tormenting memories. She'd loved them both. However, while one had her heart the other had her very soul. Despite everything, she was still very much the naïve, young girl who'd desperately wanted to be saved from her solitude in the very end. For years, her Angel of Music filled that void. They were one in the same, two lost souls, two kindred spirits who'd miraculously found another and promised never to let go. Then, through fate it had seemed, Raoul came back into her life and swept her away with such wonderful memories of her childhood, of her father. Memories her and her angel could never truly reflect upon together. Because of this, she was too helpless to resist Raoul. _Still, I truly loved them both…_

After six months of pondering her very intense relationship with these two very different men, she'd come to realize how desperately she needed them both, how much she'd needed them but in two very different, complicated ways. They seemed to bring out two different women within her and because of this she simply needed them both. Yet, it wasn't that simple. In the end, she couldn't have them both. Her Angel of Music had made that abundantly clear when he'd abducted her down to his lair once more and demanded that she love him or he'd kill her love, her Raoul.

Raoul had been everything to her when they were young, innocent children. He'd been there when her father was alive and the two spent one glorious summer together by the sea, listening to her father's tales of the "Angel of Music" and "Little Lotte," whom Raoul so adoringly called her. He truly was her dearest friend. She loved him with her whole heart that summer and never forgot him once apart. Seeing him once again, the illustrious Vicomte de Chagny, brought back such warm, sweet memories that she truly never wanted to let him go again.

Yet, her Angel of Music was an entirely different man in her life. While Raoul possessed her heart, her innocence, her angel possessed her soul. While their voices embraced another during her journey beneath the Opera House one year ago, across the lake and into his mysteriously seductive lair, Christine believed she'd truly become a woman that night. Yet, the very next morning, the dream, the belief, had ended. She'd come to find that she was still very much that naïve, young girl and believed that she'd never be able to emotionally handle and obtain her precious Angel of Music, the legendary Phantom of the Opera.

He'd lashed out at her that morning when her childish curiosity led her to tear his mask from his beautiful face. He was beautiful. No matter what he believed, he was a beautiful man. The sensuously seductive night before had left her completely enchanted with him, with his music, his soul. She truly believed he was the perfect illusion, the ultimate fantasy, she'd dreamt of all those years, her spirit, her teacher and companion, her Angel of Music. Yet, in a moment of weakness he'd shown the twisted and mortifying soul within and she'd become a frightened young girl once more. She'd been unable to handle the flesh and blood man then and it wasn't until it was too late on that horrific night six months ago when she'd come to realize that, despite everything, he still had her very soul, that perhaps she could heal him, help him…be with him. _His kiss…_ She needed him. _Oh, my beautiful angel…I'm so dreadfully sorry._

Suddenly, startling Christine from her haunting reverie, the door to her bedchamber opened and she heard a soft whisper calling out to her, "Christine…"


	3. Disillusioned Hope

_**Chapter Two: Disillusioned Hope **_

"Christine…," a soft, masculine voice came from across the bedchamber as Raoul emerged from their dressing room, a small candle in his hand.

Christine peered through the opened French doors. "Raoul," she responded playfully as she walked in from the balcony and greeted her husband, "I have missed you!"

Raoul was an impeccably attractive man and still very much the young boy from their summer by the sea together when they were children. He was a mere two and twenty, four years her senior. He had flowing dark blond hair and radiant golden green eyes. His aristocratic features made him even more dashing and charismatic while his athletic physique reflected his gallant personage. He was casually dressed, wearing a white dress shirt and black breeches.

He set the candle on a small table, smiled tenderly at her and swept her up in his arms as he kissed her soft lips, "And I have missed you, my love." He continued kissing her adoringly, her lips, her cheeks, her elegantly slim neck, "I have longed for you all day."

"And, I, for you," Christine whispered in return as he carried her over to their luxurious bed and laid her down beneath him. He continued his smooth, exploratory kisses over her body. Christine began to giggle as he kissed her mischievously on her stomach through her dressing gown and chemise. "How goes business with your brother today, darling," Christine asked as she happily succumbed to his ardent kisses.

After the infamous disaster at the Paris Opera House, Raoul and his family decided it was best for their patronage to be pursued elsewhere. Thus, he and his older brother Philippe, Comte de Chagny, came together in a time of peril and despair and decided to invest their time and money into _Le_ _Musée du Louvre_, one of the most well renowned museums in the entire world.

"Beautifully," Raoul responded breathlessly as he continued his fervent kisses over Christine's temptingly exquisite body.

She knew Raoul loved her more than his own life and knew he'd never get enough of her, especially considering his long days spent without her while he and his brother rigorously worked in pursuing new endeavors for the opulent museum.

"But, let's not speak any longer. I need you, Christine-love. I truly need you now," he whispered, kissing his way down her slender legs, her dainty toes.

"Yes, Raoul," she uttered eagerly as her hips began to arch, yearning for his warm touch. Raoul began untying Christine's dressing gown while she ardently began unbuttoning his dress shirt. In those few moments however, something had suddenly overcome her and she found herself wanting Raoul with a muddled fervor. _Forget him_, she dismally thought to herself as she pinned Raoul beneath her and urgently untied his breeches, "Oh, Raoul," she sighed anxiously, as she found what she desperately hoped would purge her angel from her hopeless mind, her despairing soul…

"Oh, Christine, touch me," Raoul murmured, completely beguiled with his magnificent wife, as he slipped her silk chemise over her head, her luxuriant brown curls cascading down her smooth back. Christine slipped her dainty hands inside Raoul's breeches and grasped his already engorged member. Simultaneously, Raoul found Christine's moist center and slipped two fingers inside her unwaveringly. Christine gasped while Raoul smiled smugly to himself, "So ready for me…," he whispered blissfully as he intently stimulated her most sensitive area while she continued stroking him aggressively, "take me, Christine, now."

Christine swiftly brought Raoul's raging manhood to her most precious threshold and mounted him. "Raoul…," she sighed as he began to thrust inside her, abruptly pulling her upon him, forcing their lips to become one. Her perfectly exposed breasts brushed against his bare chest and the intimate contact was unbearable for them both. "Please, Raoul," she begged as she grabbed his hands from around her waist and placed them on her aching breasts. "Mmm…," she sighed as she sat up and arched her back, thrusting her breasts into his wanting hands.

Raoul began intently caressing her breasts before bringing his mouth to them, kissing and suckling most urgently, as if he truly could never get enough of her. Christine began to moan louder as Raoul's sensual ministrations slowly unraveled her. He continued devoting his mouth to her luscious breasts while he deftly slipped his right hand between their entwined bodies and began caressing her sensitized jewel. His daring touch became her undoing.

She clung to his shoulders while he continued his maddening touch, their lips becoming one once again, their tongues entwining. They were both trembling, completely enraptured with another, on the brink of a culminating pleasure that both were so familiar with. "Christine…," Raoul rasped while he brought his hands around her waist and eagerly began caressing her silken skin, rolling her beneath him. Christine arched her hips enticingly beneath him while grasping his perfectly formed buttocks, pleading for more.

"Raoul, please hurry, I need you…," she moaned longingly. Raoul began thrusting vigorously inside his impassioned wife, desperately wanting to heal the rapturous ache that was building inside them. He slipped his hands underneath her hips, holding them closer together while she slid her arms around his neck.

"You're everything, Christine-love," Raoul murmured while they both held on to each other, neither wanting to let go. They continued their tantalizing dance until they both screamed out in release, Raoul spilling his seed inside her, both completely immersed with the moment, with their love, their lascivious grace. Their heavy breaths began to slowly dissipate while they gazed longingly into their still fevered eyes. "Oh, Christine," Raoul deliriously whispered as he lay upon the bed and pulled her into his arms, never wanting to let her go.

"Raoul…," she whispered tremulously in return as she embraced her besotted husband.

After their heated lovemaking, they laid together for some time in companionable silence, yet Christine's resolute hope that making love to her husband would purge her thoughts of _him_ from her mind ultimately failed.

It was Raoul who broke the silence, interrupting her emotionally unfaithful thoughts. "I love you, Christine. Always remember that," he whispered with a sweet sadness in his voice, a sadness Christine knew was the cause of her emotional betrayal, of her longing for her angel.

Christine lifted her head from Raoul's chest and looked into his seemingly frightened green eyes, as if he knew what she was thinking of, _who_ she was thinking of. "I know that, Raoul. I love you, too. Very much, darling," she guardedly declared as she kissed his cheek, "always." _I'm just so sorry I cannot give you my soul, _she thought as he held her closer to him.

"Always," he repeated as he intently stared into her fraught hazel eyes. She could see the uncertainty in his saddened, desperate eyes, a sadness and desperation that never escaped him, not since that night in her angel's Hell. _Oh, Raoul…_ He smiled warily, kissed her forehead and bid her goodnight. Yet, while she lay there, she couldn't stop thinking of _him_, her secretly cherished angel.

Once she and Raoul had fled from the Phantom, her Angel of Music, those unforgettable six months ago, they both agreed they'd be married as soon as possible, subconsciously hoping their union would make them forget that horrific night. They were married quietly within one month's time and left Paris for the de Chagny country estate in southern France, hoping that their love, and an idyllic escape from their demons, would heal them. For three blissful months they were inseparable and she found herself falling in love with Raoul all over again, though they both knew that there would always be an ominous burden in their love, a remembrance of that fateful night which would never be forgotten. Their enduring love would always be burdened by their surreal endeavor with the legendary opera ghost.

Christine began to suspect that Raoul always believed, and would continue to believe, that a part of her would belong to her angel for eternity, especially once they returned to Paris. It haunted her. She hated herself because of it. Yet, Raoul never once asked if she still thought of him, longed for him. He never once asked if she questioned herself over the choice that had been made between her two devoted lovers and, most chillingly, if she regretted leaving with him while her enigmatic Angel of Music was left alone to suffer without her in perpetuity. Perhaps he didn't want to know the answer to any of those horrifying questions. Perhaps he didn't want to lose her, no matter who her soul belonged to.

She loved Raoul with her entire heart. He was a wonderful man, a devoted husband. She needed him and knew she should be with him. Yet, she couldn't help but wonder what became of her angel those six months ago. _Perhaps he finally found an existing peace…or…_ Christine couldn't bear to finish her thought. To think he may no longer be alive was terrifying. Yet, she somehow felt she'd know it in the depths of her soul if he were dead. A part of her had already died when she reluctantly left her angel that night. _Why did you let me go, angel? Why didn't you force me to stay with you in the end? I wanted to believe that Raoul was the only man I could ever love. But, our sacred kiss…_

She remembered their impassioned kiss quite vividly. How could she ever forget? She had determinedly kissed him that night once he'd given her a shattering ultimatum: either stay and live with him for an eternity or send Raoul to his undeserved death. Thus, she gathered the little courage she had left in her and made her sacrificing choice: her angel. She couldn't allow Raoul to be killed because of her.

She had meant for it to be a chaste kiss, one meant to show him that she was his now, that she belonged to him completely. Yet, something enlightening came over her as she stared into his desperate eyes after that first kiss and then pleadingly embraced him. She came to realize that she still needed this man. That she did love him, yet not as her angel nor as the Phantom, but as the flesh and blood man that stood before her. So many emotions flooded her mind in those brief moments. She found herself kissing him once more with an ardent passion that she knew only he could stir within her. She lovingly caressed his deformed face, tears streaming down both their cheeks until their lovers' trance ended when he abruptly broke their kiss. She knew he'd never been unconditionally desired before, that no one had ever shown him such compassion in such a seemingly simple gesture. That supposed chaste kiss had changed everything. The look in his eyes would haunt her forever: love, hope, admiration, despair… Confusion…hate, she knew he hated himself for everything he had done to her, especially in that moment.

She had become completely enthralled with him in that moment and had momentarily forgotten Raoul, forgotten that her enraged angel from only moments ago had captured Raoul by the neck with his threatening Punjab lasso, promising to kill him if she didn't succumb to his possessive love. She'd turned to her distraught lover suddenly and whispered a simple "I love you" to him and gently kissed her hand in a gesture meant only for him, wanting him to believe that, despite her impending new life in her angel's Hell, she would always love him. She'd known it had been dangerous to proclaim her love to Raoul in front of her angel once again, as she had, unknowingly at the time, done so on the rooftop of the Opera House months before, but she truly believed then that it wouldn't have mattered, that her neurotic angel was going to kill him regardless of choosing him.

Yet, shockingly, after moments of unending silence and desperation, her Angel of Music let her go, let them both go. It wasn't until he let her and Raoul go that she realized he wasn't just the murdering madman who haunted the Opera House and deceived her innocent mind, that perhaps redemption could be possible for him still. That she could possibly love him as the man, who'd only six months before, brought her down to his fantastical lair and seduced her with his sensuous music. The man that she remembered vividly, the man she wanted to remember from that enchanting night.

She frequently wondered what her life may have been like with her angel. Now she was the illustrious Vicomtesse de Chagny. No longer was she the lost, virginal beauty who longed for a companion, for the "Angel of Music" her father promised to send her upon his death. No longer was she the naïve chorus girl, who only a year ago briefly and most scandalously became the prima donna of the Paris Opera House. No longer was she an opera ingénue whatsoever. She and Raoul agreed that she wouldn't return to her scandalous pastime after the disaster and that they'd live their life together quietly. She missed the stage, the Opera House, though it was still abandoned. It was her dream to become a well beloved opera singer, an actress. Now, the dream was nothing but a memory, a secret longing that she knew she could never express again. But, she felt compelled to do this for Raoul. After all, he was in love with a woman who couldn't possibly love him completely in return, so it only seemed logical that she'd promise him to never return to the stage. _Fool_.

Christine succumbed to silent tears then, tears that weren't unfamiliar to her. She cried herself to sleep in Raoul's arms, thinking of her angel and her hopeless dreams. _What a weak child you are_, she thought pitifully.

Yes, she still very much was that lost and helpless child…

*******

Erik stood before his abandoned organ, memories pouring through his crazed mind. He gradually extended his arm and brushed his fingertips against the keys, hollow music filling his mind. All he could think of was _her_. He hesitantly sat down at the neglected instrument and wept. For the first time in six months, since the night he foolishly yet selflessly let her go, he wept. _Christine…_

After crying for longer than he'd imagined he ever could, his fate, his entire soul caught his despairing eye. His iniquitous score, the opera that he'd written for his angel: _Don Juan Triumphant_. It lay there upon his music stand, completely untouched. _Someone has been here_, he thought as he abruptly stood and determinedly walked away from what had been his complete devotion for his entire life: his ominously modern and poignant music. Music had been a part of his wretched life since before he could remember, yet it wasn't until he began to see his Angel of Music in an entirely different light, as a woman and not a young girl, when he obsessively began writinghis powerfully erotic opera.

He began aggressively pacing his abandoned home, wondering who could have possibly returned his score. As he continued roaming throughout his lair a sudden thought occurred to him. Only a few could possibly know what his home had looked like before the infuriated mob had discovered it on that inauspicious night, assuming they hadn't left it untouched. He highly doubted Christine or her precious Vicomte would return to his Hell and therefore knew it could only be one other person.

_Madame Giry_, his savoir, his devoted yet apprehensive companion, his only confidence in a world of solitude and darkness.

_But, why, _he maddeningly wondered as he came upon his lavish bed, the bed he laid Christine down upon that intoxicating night, after she had fainted in his arms. He reluctantly found himself lying down, piteously inhaling the satin sheets and pillows, hoping her sweet fragrance would still be absorbed in the luxuriant fabrics.

As he lay there, completely transfixed, his thoughts wandered back to the aloof yet compassionate Madame Giry, the only woman, except for Christine, who had shown him any inkling of affection, though their relationship had been more methodical than one of a sociable companionship. He had depended on her when it came to his needs, needs that only the vainglorious world, who had denied him everything, could fulfill.

She was the ever daunting, now former, ballet mistress of the Paris Opera House and the mother of Christine's beloved friend, Meg Giry, a member of the ballet corps. Once a member of the Opera House's ballet corps herself, Madame Giry eventually decided it was time to retire from dancing and thus became the resplendent ballet mistress whom the young ballet corps admired despite her stoic and threatening demeanor. Yet, to him, she would always be _Berenice_.

Madame Berenice Giry had been his true savior through it all. She had rescued him years ago when he was just a young man, the supposed innocent age of seventeen. She was only some years older than he, five and twenty, and had recently been married. She was a prima ballerina at the Paris Opera House and felt her life had just begun, she had once told him. She was madly in love with her husband, a brilliant violinist, as was Christine's father he recalled gloomily, whom she had met while both were performing with the Opera House. She was devotedly and utterly happy, believing that she and her husband were to forever live in complete bliss. However, the night she and the ballet corps decided to visit a traveling fair in Paris changed everything…

Erik grimaced as he thought of his former companion, of how he'd become an inconceivable burden in her seemingly perfect life. Throughout their twenty years of camaraderie she never once betrayed him to the Opera House, to her husband… Not once. He was exceedingly grateful. _If only she knew that…_

Perhaps she did know. Perhaps that was why she returned to the abandoned Opera House and maneuvered her way through the threatening catacombs beneath it, somehow hoping that he'd return and all would be as it was one year ago and he'd be able to once again settle and live peacefully in solitude. _The solitude that had driven me mad_, he thought sardonically.

He rose from the deceivingly comfortable bed and once again began pacing and observing his shattered home, his deserted home. Still completely immersed in darkness despite the small light that emitted from the candelabra that journeyed with him across the lake, Erik decided that perhaps it was time to succumb to the ostentatious light. He pursued the candelabra that he'd lain in the lantern dangling from the front of his boat and began lighting the abundant candelabra throughout his lair.

While lighting each individual candle tentatively, Erik came upon the object he had devastatingly begun to believe over the past six months was the true reason for the disastrous change in his and Christine's already anomalous relationship: the mannequin. It was this mannequin that bore a disturbing resemblance to Christine, that had once worn the wedding dress and veil he'd made especially for her. The mannequin that he'd created truly hoping that perhaps one day she'd love him and they'd forever become one.

She had fainted when he'd revealed it to her that first night in his lair, falling into his shockingly devoted arms. He couldn't fathom then why she had fainted, he had believed she would have been flattered, ecstatic. He knew better now. _Imbecile…_

He then came across the veil. It still lay where he had left it before he'd made his deft escape once he'd let Christine and her beloved Vicomte go. The wedding dress was gone, of course. He had forced Christine to wear it once he'd abducted her and brought her to his lair after she humiliated him during their impassioned aria from _Don Juan Triumphant_. He wondered if perhaps she still had it, if she saved it…_if she thinks of me still_.

He picked up the veil from the cold ground and grievously embraced it. Tears flooded his eyes once more and he wondered if he'd ever see her again. If he'd ever hear her angelic voice once more. If he'd ever be able to simply tell her he was sorry, wholly sorry. _Oh, Christine, I'm so very sorry, truly, my angel_.

Yet, he'd also come to learn throughout these past months that wallowing in self-pity would never purge this interminable pain from his mind, his heart…from his very soul. He dropped the veil, as he had done so many months ago, and decided it was finally time to leave his eternal Hell…and to never return. He began to extinguish the abundant candelabra when the unbelievable caught his eye. It would seem that tonight was incessantly full of mind-boggling surprises.

_A letter…_ It was a sealed letter with his name written on it. It could only be from her, the only existing woman in his miserable life who knew his true name. It was from Madame Giry, his ever faithful companion, Berenice. He stood there, simply looking at the all too familiar handwriting, feverishly debating whether or not to even read it. At least she hadn't forgotten him…

Inevitably, Erik found himself shaking as he broke the waxed seal and reluctantly began to read the mysterious letter…


	4. Decisions

_**Chapter Three: Decisions **_

Erik found himself shaking as he broke the waxed seal to Berenice's letter and reluctantly began to read the mysterious woman's message:

_Erik,_

_I have worried for you so. I must admit that when Meg informed me that you were nowhere to be found once the mob discovered your lair that night you…abducted Christine, I truly thought the worst. She found one of your many white leather masks and brought it to me explaining she found it beneath your black cape upon your throne, with you nowhere to be found. It is still a mystery as to what occurred between you, Christine and the Vicomte that cataclysmic night. The explanation given by the two was that they were able to escape with no idea as to what became of you. Yet, I can't help but believe that you must have let them go. You truly loved her, Erik. From the bottom of my heart I'd always believed you loved her…that you'd set her free because of your love, that you'd come to realize what you were doing to that poor, innocent girl was complete lunacy. _

_I returned to the abandoned Opera House three months later. I had imprudently hoped to find you there. That you'd ruthlessly return. While searching throughout the Opera House for anything that may be of importance, I found your greatest masterpiece: your score. I first brought it home with me to my cottage on the outskirts of Paris. But, after some time I found myself writing you this letter and returning your score to your home of twenty some years in hopes that you would finally return…despite the undesirable memories it certainly would bring._

_Erik, if you do return, I beg of you to please seek me out. I have so much to say to you, to speak with you about. My address is written on the reverse side of this letter. I want to help you still, Erik. I think of you every day._

_Forever your faithful friend,_

_Berenice _

Erik read the letter several more times. He was in complete disbelief. Despite everything, Berenice still wanted him in her life. He would no longer deny that he had gone completely mad that night he'd foolishly abducted Christine from the very stage they'd so passionately shared only moments before. Because of his complete madness he truly thought he'd not only lost Christine when he'd let her go that night, but that he'd lost Berenice as well. After all, who could ever forgive such fanatical behavior?

He began pacing the lair, vigorously deciding whether or not to pursue Berenice. For the past six months he had completely concealed himself away from the world. It was vastly ironic that he now willingly embraced the opportunity to be alone considering that the majority of his entire life had been in unwanted solitude. Now, things had changed. For six months he found himself in hiding, not once making any attempt to contact Berenice. He needed time to reflect the disastrous end to his and Christine's tumultuous relationship. Now, Berenice was reaching out to him and he found himself in need of her. He would always need her. She was his only true friend in this lonely world.

For months he'd wanted to find redemption, but with himself first. Thus, he found himself in an old abandoned building in the city, spending his days and nights reflecting on what he had so foolishly done over the past years. He'd endlessly terrorized the Opera House, selfishly used Berenice to do his manipulative machinations. He'd constantly scared plenty of managers, singers, dancers, and even a few patrons, from the Opera House as well. But, what hurt him the most was his deceitful relationship with his young ingénue…

Erik abruptly stopped pacing and restlessly sat at his organ, pondering his first memories of his Angel of Music. _Christine…_

She had first come to the Opera House when she was just the young age of thirteen. Her father, Gustave, a well beloved Swedish violinist, had recently passed away, leaving the young orphan in the keeping of Berenice. Her mother had died when she was a young child, just the meager age of six. The Daaés had known the Girys for quite some time. Gustave and Sébastien, Berenice's husband, had met during their younger days while studying in Paris. They had shared the same tutor, both men becoming extraordinary violinists. Sébastien became a well renowned violinist in Paris while Gustave enjoyed equal success in Sweden.

Erik smiled as he recalled listening to Christine animatedly telling little Meg Giry of her father's past, of her mother. Gustave had been in Paris when he'd first laid eyes on Christine's mother, Aurore. He had been unable to resist the Parisian actress while visiting Sébastien and Berenice for their wedding during the summer of 1860 at the Opera House. He was so besotted with the irresistible beauty that he adamantly pursued her throughout that summer. The meeting between the two had been one year before Berenice had brought him to the Opera House, to his imminent isolated Hell.

The two had soon fallen in love, left for Sweden and married that October. Gustave continued his career as a prominent violinist while Aurore enjoyed quiet success on the Swedish stage. Four years later their little angel was born: the enchanting Christine Daaé. Yet, their blissful home was abruptly shattered when Christine's fair mother had unexpectedly taken ill and died. The two never truly recovered.

The Daaés and Girys had remained close friends throughout the years. Thus, when Gustave passed away unexpectedly, Berenice was more than welcoming when Christine's wellbeing fell into her hands. It had been only two years before when Sébastien, her first and only love, had died. She and Meg had been distraught for so long that the two eagerly welcomed Christine with open arms and together the three embarked on a new life, hoping for new beginnings in the Opera House. Christine, especially, hoped that her dream of becoming a famous opera singer, on the very same stage where her exquisite mother's career had began, would finally take flight.

Erik trembled as he recalled Christine's dreams, her life, which she so excitedly spoke of with him during their cherished years together as a teacher and his student. Much to his dismay, tears began to form in his eyes as he began to remember the day that changed his life. The day when he'd first heard Christine sing:

_The young girl sat in the chapel within the Paris Opera House and quietly began a small prayer to honor her father, never realizing she wasn't alone. It was Christmastime and snow had just begun to fall in Paris, a calm dusting. Many of the corps de ballet among others living in the Opera House had enthusiastically gone outside to enjoy the snow, but she hadn't. She never ventured out with the others. She was always alone it would seem. He had been observing her from afar, hidden in the threatening shadows for some time, when she finally spoke. "Father," she whispered eagerly once she had finished her prayer, "I have only been here for some months and still feel unbearably alone. Yes, Madame Giry has been wonderful and her daughter, Meg, and I have become fast friends… But, I truly miss you and have longed for you to fulfill your promise…" _

_Erik listened intently. He'd known of the girl, Christine, for quite some time since her arrival to the Opera House. Berenice had informed him of her immediate arrival due to her father's unexpected death, and because of Berenice's relationship with the girl, Erik hardly found it necessary for her to become plagued by his machinations. So, he left her alone. He rarely left anyone in his opera house alone unless they meant something to Berenice, hence, Sébastien, Meg, and now, this lonely child, being the only residents of the Opera House to never be personally bothered. Yet, despite his oath to Berenice and to himself to leave young Christine alone, something about her intrigued him. He wondered if it were because she was alone…like him._

"_Father," she continued, "when will you ever send me the Angel of Music you so wondrously spoke of when you were still alive? I have patiently waited for it, for this whimsical spirit to come to me, to teach me to sing! You promised you'd send it! You promised! I'm so very alone…" Christine became very upset then, perhaps even frustrated, and tears began to fall down her precious rosy cheeks. Erik felt a tremendous sadness. For the first time in his miserable life he found himself wanting to reach out and help someone. He truly wanted to help this young girl. _

_He began to ponder the idea of this so-called "Angel of Music," when he heard Christine continue her thoughts once more, "__Joyeux Noël__, Father. I love you. And, I know this is your absolute favorite Christmas song. I'm sure Heaven has, and will, continue to be most kind to you." _

_Erik closed his eyes and prepared to listen to the young girl sing, expecting to hear a very amateurish version of whatever song she had chosen. Yet, once she began, Erik found himself swiftly opening his eyes, completely bewildered! Christine's voice was the most wondrous, purest sound he never imagined could exist, not even in his wildest dreams. She was singing Adolphe Adam's "__Cantique de Noël."_

_He became completely entranced! Her voice was clearly untrained, but it was the voice of…an angel! An angel of…music! The…Angel of Music! In those few moments of her glorious singing, Erik became completely obsessed with the young girl…with her voice! He knew in that moment that he needed her. That he needed her for his dreams, his desires…his music! _

_He continued listening to the young girl. Her voice was divine! After years of loneliness, of complete solitude, he had finally found his solution, his everything in this mere slip of a girl. Christine Daaé, the orphaned, lonely child. Kindred spirits…_

_Erik found himself unable to resist. He debated with himself while she continued to sing as to whether or not he should claim to be this "Angel of Music" her father seemingly promised to send her upon his death. It would be terribly selfish of him to claim he was this illustrious spirit. Yet, when he heard her sing that final high note in the word "divine," Erik knew he had to have her, that her voice was his completely. That he wanted to be her Angel of Music…that she was his very own Angel of Music…_

"_Christine…," he hauntingly sung to her, "Christine…"_

_She swiftly looked about the chapel, a small gasp coming from her precious lips. Her eyes widened in disbelief, in wonder. "Angel…," she asked, completely entranced, "is that you, my Angel of Music?"_

"_Yes, Christine, I am your Angel of Music. Please, sing for me…"_

_And, so, it had begun…_

Erik quickly stood from the organ bench and let out a thunderous roar! _I deceived you, Christine. I knowingly deceived you! How could I ever know that I'd fall in love with you, the woman, and come to realize how wonderful you truly are? _

He never meant to fall in love with the blissfully unaware beauty. For four magnificent years he tutored the young child. Yet, he never once revealed himself, and Christine never once believed he was truly a man, let alone, the infamous Phantom of the Opera. She always believed he was just a spirit, the spirit her father promised to send her once he died, her Angel of Music. But, in the third year of their bewildering relationship, when his innocent student turned the ripe age of sixteen, Erik found himself irrevocably falling for the growing beauty. He began to see her as a young woman. No longer was she the young girl he'd deceived into believing he was her Angel of Music. No longer was he only devoted to her voice. Now, not only was her voice divine. Now, Christine, the young woman, was as equally divine as her voice…and he wanted her.

Yet, for an entire year, he kept his desires and the desperate urge to reveal himself to her asunder…until _he_reemerged into her life, the illustrious Vicomte de Chagny. _Raoul…_

Erik knew nothing of the Vicomte until it had been announced that he was to be the new patron of the Opera House. Yet, he was even more horrified when he'd come to find that the new patron was also an admirer of Christine's, an old friend…her childhood love. He had become furious. Not once, in all their years of learning and growing together, did Christine ever mention her precious Vicomte. Raoul's return in Christine's life had taken him completely by surprise. _A very unwanted surprise…_

Thus, in his frustration and terror of losing her to the young Vicomte, he had decided to reveal himself that night, the night of her debut gala when she her voice, her soul, had truly soared. She had been superb that night in the role of Elissa in Chalumeau's _Hannibal_. His true Angel of Music…

Erik shook his head in defeat at the heart wrenching memories. _Fool. _

It was decided. He marched back over to his organ, grabbed his ill-fated score and Berenice's letter and determinedly walked over to the boat. He hastily dropped the items into it and then extinguished the rest of the candelabra. He then placed his original candelabra into the lantern in the front of the boat, quickly jumped in and began rowing across the lake.

He'd find Berenice and then, perhaps then, he'd find true redemption. _Perhaps we shall meet again, Christine. I just hope you'll forgive me…_

_*******  
_

It had been three days since the night Christine had passionately made love to him. Three days since the anniversary of her debut performance in Chalumeau's _Hannibal _one year ago. Yet, Raoul knew that wasn't the reason for her desperate lovemaking that night. It was because of _him_. Her Angel of Music, the Phantom of the Opera. For, not only had one year ago been her debut performance as a prima donna, but it also marked the night the Phantom had abducted her and taken her down to his sinister lair. _Damn him…_

Raoul sighed as he watched Christine from afar in their fantastical garden. She was sitting on the pedestal of the Victorian inspired fountain, staring aimlessly into its crystal blue water. He was leaning against an oak tree, his arms crossed across his chest. He was dressed in a casual white dress shirt, the shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. He wore his most comfortable black breeches and boots. He had decided to spend the day with his lovely wife instead of joining Philippe at the museum. It truly was a lazy, summer day. _If only I could have more…with her._

He continued observing Christine as he shamelessly wondered who she was thinking of. Though, he knew his thoughts were in vain, for she always thought of him, her Angel of Music. He hated it. It maddened him to know that she still thought of that creature. Yet, not once had she ever confessed to him that the Phantom was still in her thoughts. _So why does it drive you mad? _

Because he could hear her cry every so often, especially during the nights after they made love. He could feel her trembling while she silently cried, despite her belief that he was asleep, despite him holding her in his arms…she still cried. _Oh, Christine…_

After that shattering night, rumors spread throughout Paris ruthlessly and after only a few months it had been determined by the authorities that the infamous Phantom of the Opera was dead. But, Raoul thought differently. The enigmatic Phantom was very much alive when he had suddenly let him and Christine go that night. Raoul truly believed it still wasn't over. Even if the Phantom were to never cross paths with him and Christine again it would never truly be over. _My lovely and devoted wife would subconsciously make sure of that, _he thought bitterly.

Yet, in spite of everything, his assumption that his wife was in love with two very different men for two very different reasons, despite his belief that he'd never truly have her heart, her very soul…he loved her and he would always love her. He'd loved her from the moment he first saw her that day by the sea when she'd clumsily let her red scarf flutter into the water, underestimating the strength of the wind. Smitten, Raoul had found himself diving heroically into the sea, fetching her red scarf and returning it to a very embarrassed little girl, his little Christine.

Raoul chuckled to himself as he recalled those blissful memories. That summer was truly an unforgettable one. He never forgot that wonderfully innocent summer with her and her delightful father. The love between father and daughter was quite contagious and he had found himself enjoying a summer by the sea, loving Christine and hearing tales of the mystifying "Angel of Music" and the ever so curious "Little Lotte" that her father would merrily tell.

_My little Lotte…_ Soon after Raoul and Christine had heard of the many tales of the little girl, Raoul found himself calling Christine his little Lotte. She truly reminded him of that curious little girl, for Christine was ever the inquisitive one. He often thought of that summer by the sea. _I love you so much, Christine, so very much, my little Lotte. _

Christine turned to him then, giving him the prettiest smile. _So innocent_, he thought. _Why can't you love me the way you love him? _Raoul walked over to his charming wife, sat down beside her and gave her a soft kiss on her irresistible lips. "You're beautiful," he murmured breathlessly.

"Raoul…," she replied softly as she closed her eyes.

"Little Lotte…," he whispered lovingly as he began to kiss her soft neck.

Christine shuddered, instantly opening her eyes. "You haven't called me that in…"

"Six months," Raoul quietly interrupted as he looked thoughtfully into her pondering eyes.

"Yes, six months…," Christine responded sorrowfully.

"It was the night of _le_ _bal masqué_. In honor of the New Year, at the Paris Opera House, when I had come to escort you," Raoul continued. "You were so beautiful that night, so vibrant, so…happy," he remembered pleasantly.

"I was, wasn't I," Christine reminisced reluctantly.

They both knew where this conversation could possibly lead. Raoul continued watching Christine and feverishly debated whether to speak of their turbulent past regarding the events in the now abandoned Opera House. He'd pathetically wanted to know what had truly happened between her and the Phantom the first night he'd abducted her. She had despairingly and most…passionately told him on the rooftop of the Opera House some nights later what had occurred during that night of their reunion in her dressing room, the night of her debut performance. Yet he felt it wasn't the complete truth and, unwisely, he hadn't believed her either. He had thought it to be some colossal dream. _You ridiculous fool…_

But, despite his endless wonderings, he didn't want to ruin this moment. He loved her too much to do this to her, to compel her into confessing to him what she may not have even confessed to herself: that she was in love with the Phantom of the Opera, her Angel of Music, that she regretted her decision. For, he himself still wondered if his own decision to stay with her was in vain. He didn't want to think of it any longer.

Instead, he smiled at Christine and brushed a lock of her brown hair behind her ear. She was dressed in a rose colored sheath gown that accentuated her lithe body and luscious breasts, her gorgeous curls falling upon her perfect face, falling gracefully down her back. God, he loved this woman. In face of everything, he truly loved her.

He stood suddenly, taking Christine's dainty hands and bringing her with him.

"Where are we going," she asked. Raoul heard a slight giggle in her voice as he led her over to the orange roses that formed a perfectly hidden alcove within the flourishing garden. She truly was a consummate actress. One moment she'd be in a state of melancholy, visibly thinking of her Angel of Music, then suddenly, she'd seduce him with her innocence, with her infectious smile and make him feel…make him believe, that he was the only one for her.

Once hidden within, what Raoul felt, was their own secret world, their very own fantasy, he laid Christine down, lying down next to her, his head propped up by his bended arm. He gazed at her longingly, "Christine…"

She stared back at him, confusion in her sad eyes, "What is it, Raoul?"

"Love me," he declared, a touch of desperation in his voice, "love me…," he said once more as he lay upon her.

"I do, Raoul. I love you. You know I do," she said comfortingly as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He began caressing her body while he passionately kissed her, Christine completely succumbing to his touch, despite his reluctant thoughts of her supposed unconditional love.

It was quite ironic. One year ago, it was him comforting her. It was him pleading his love to her, asking her to let him be her light in her time of seemingly eternal darkness. He promised to love her, hold her, protect her…and now… Now, it would seem, he was the one who needed her solemn promise of everlasting love and desire. Now, he needed her more desperately than she needed him and it hurt him. It killed him. Despite him leaving with her the night the Phantom let them go, it was he who had truly won. He may have Christine, but that damn Phantom had her heart…her soul.

Inevitably, Raoul's jealousy, his infuriating insecurities, suddenly came over him. He wanted Christine to know who she belonged to. He couldn't lose her. He wouldn't lose her. He'd loved her for the past eight years. He loved everything about her. He loved Christine as the innocent child from the sea, as the Christine he'd been separated from for seven years despite never once communicating with another. He loved the woman she was on that stage when he saw her again for the first time after those agonizing years without her. He loved her despite watching her all but make love to the deceivingly seductive Phantom while they sung most passionately together, completely enraptured of another, on stage that dreadful night. Yet, finally, and most sobering, was him having to watch her passionately kiss that endlessly flawed madman. Not once, but twice, in order to save his life. He loved her and he desperately wanted her to know that, to believe it…to feel it.

Yet, he also wanted her to know that she was his wife and he her husband. Raoul pulled away from their impassioned kisses and ripped the bodice from her dress. She gasped as he aggressively grabbed her breasts and began kneading them. "Christine…you are mine, love," he spoke forcefully as he brought his mouth to her breasts.

"Yes, Raoul," she replied breathlessly, her hands in his hair. "I'm yours."

She began to untie his breeches when he grabbed her hands. "No, Christine-love. Not quite yet," he replied quietly as he rolled her on her stomach and ruthlessly whispered in her ear, "I don't think I believe you, Christine. Show me. Show me that you're mine. I want you completely. I want to be so deep inside of you…"

Raoul began to slip his anxious hands up Christine's dress, caressing her luscious thighs. "Do you want me, Christine? Do you want me deep inside of you, my lovely wife," he fervently asked as he began caressing her most secret area, her most enticing jewel.

"Yes," she gasped breathlessly as he slipped two of his right fingers deep inside her, "I need you, Raoul. Please…"

Raoul placed himself completely behind Christine as he slipped his other hand inside her torn bodice and once more began caressing her breasts, "You know, Christine, my darling, I need you too. I want you."

He anxiously began untying his breeches and paralleled Christine's body with his, both on their knees. He slipped his engorged manhood inside of her from behind and heedlessly began making love to her, both breathing heavily, loud gasps coming from their lips. He wrapped his right arm around her waist, his hand now covered with her intoxicating sweetness, reiterating his message once more, that she was his and his alone, while he continued to aggressively caress her breasts with his other hand.

He was on fire for her. He brought his lips to hers and began kissing her most fervently, their tongues colliding and becoming one. Christine placed her left hand on Raoul's cheek, pleading for more. She suddenly broke their kiss and began crying out in total abandon. Raoul could feel her release upon them, could feel his upon them, but he wasn't done yet. He pulled his engorged flesh from her and teased her moist threshold with his throbbing cock.

"Raoul, please…" she pleaded as he continued vigorously teasing her. "Please, I need you inside me."

"I want you to come for me, Christine," he demanded. He licked her ear before biting her earlobe, "Come for me, Christine," he said once more as he slipped his two right fingers inside of her. He began stroking her, clearly driving her mad. She wanted more, she wanted so much more and he thrived on every moment of her desperate passion.

"Are you ready for me once more, Christine-love?"

"Yes, Raoul…," she gasped as he slipped his cock inside her. "Oh…Raoul," she sighed as he began thrusting inside her.

They continued their aggressive lovemaking. Raoul continued thrusting inside of her while he simultaneously stroked her sensitive nub with his right hand, enhancing her momentous pleasure, "Come for me, Christine. I want you to come for me. Now," he commanded as he possessively yet tenderly bit her shoulder as she cried out in release, wanting her to know who she belonged to, hoping that a visible love bite would remind her. He soon found release as well, spilling his essence inside her. Both collapsed upon the shadowed grass, completely consumed, the scent of roses filling their senses.

They lay there for quite some time, breathing most profusely. Christine remained on her stomach as Raoul pulled his breeches over his lean buttocks and tied them once more around his waist. He watched Christine intently, hopelessly wondering what she was thinking. He reached over to one of the orange rose bushes and carefully picked one.

He provocatively began caressing her legs with the rose then continued caressing her slim arms while he covered her legs with her dress. When he caressed her face with the rose, she smiled. He felt incredibly relieved.

"For you, my love," he murmured as he laid the rose in her hand. She smiled lovingly at him and sweetly took the rose from his hand. "Are you all right," he finally asked.

She lay there for a moment, never taking her eyes off him. She rolled onto her back and modestly covered her breasts with the ripped fabric from her bodice. She then smelled the orange rose, clearly intoxicated by its sweet smell. _So innocent…, _he thought, admiring her. _Perhaps I don't deserve you._ The thought terrified him. He quickly put it in the back of his mind, hoping to forget it.

Her prolonged silence became unbearable. "Christine…," he whispered once more.

She sat up and smiled at him, suddenly throwing her arms around him. "Yes, Raoul, I'm all right. Truly," she said as she looked up into his doting eyes. "I love you," she murmured as she kissed him, "so much…"

"I love you, Christine," he said in return as she brought him down to lay with her upon the grass.

They laid there for a long while in comfortable silence. Finally, Raoul decided to speak, hoping his foolish dreams wouldn't ruin the pleasant moments they just shared. "Christine, do you ever wonder about our first summer together, the summer by the sea, when we first fell in love," he asked quietly.

Christine remained silent for some time, terrifying him. He finally pulled away from her embrace and stared intently into her eyes. She reluctantly stared back at him. A few more moments passed before she finally spoke. "I think of it every day, Raoul," she replied amiably.

"What else do you think of," he asked, scared of the possible answers.

She began stroking the curled forelock of dark blonde hair that fell upon his forehead, "You, of course," she replied with an infectious giggle. "Why are you suddenly asking these questions," she asked, looking at him most inquisitively.

Raoul stared hopelessly into her hazel eyes as she continued to play with his forelock. "It's nothing," he responded, suddenly losing his courage, "nothing at all."

She immediately sat up, placing her elbows beneath her. "Then why did you so powerfully make love to me just now, Raoul? Not once have you ever taken me with such…authority before."

"Oh, Christine, I never meant to frighten you. I—"

"You didn't frighten me," she declared fixedly, standing up before him.

He stood as well, both readjusting their attire from their most impassioned lovemaking. Neither spoke until Christine kissed him on the cheek and began to walk away. "We had best go inside, it looks as if it's going to rain," she said as she gazed up at the sky. Raoul had hardly noticed how gloomy it had suddenly become. It reflected his mood perfectly.

She stared at him a little longer, clearly wondering if he was coming with her. "Well, are you coming, silly," she finally asked, laughing.

He remained standing there when it slowly started to rain, tiny droplets falling upon him and his incredibly beautiful wife. Her hair was a complete mass of wild curls, her face still flushed, her dress clinging seductively to her body, first from their lovemaking, now from the falling rain. _So beautiful…,_ he thought tenderly. And yet, he hated her in that moment as she turned and began walking away from him.

"Christine, wait," he hastily yelled as she began running back to their majestic _château_, a home that had been in the de Chagny family for hundreds of years.

She stopped running, turned and held out her hand to him. "Raoul," she pleaded as he still stood there, "what is it? Please, come inside with me and we can speak of what is bothering you."

"No," he stated abruptly.

She slowly walked back toward him. "What is it, darling," she asked as she brought her right hand to his face and caressed his cheek.

He finally found the strength to ask the question that had been burning inside him for the past six months. He had to know. If he was to spend the rest of his life with this beautiful creature, this woman who would be the mother of his children, this woman who was his everything, then he had to know.

"Christine," he murmured, looking pitifully into her eyes as he placed his left hand upon hers, "do you love him?"


	5. Deceit

_**Chapter Four: Deceit **_

"What," Christine breathlessly asked. She was quite alarmed. She could feel her heart racing. _No, Raoul, not now…please, not now._

"Do you love him, Christine," Raoul asked once more, caressing her hand, which lie upon his cheek, fear in his golden green eyes. He looked so vulnerable, so helpless. _I'm sorry…_

She removed her hand from his grasp and looked away. After six months, not once had either of them spoken of that night, of the Phantom…_my angel_. Yet, she knew this disheartening conversation would be inevitable. It certainly explained his aggressively impassioned lovemaking from only moments ago. But, she wasn't entirely sure if she was ready for the possible terror that could erupt if she confessed the dark truth, a truth she had been terrified to admit to herself.

"Please, Raoul," she pleaded as she grasped his hand in hers once more, desperately wanting to distract him, to escape the impending doom, "let's go inside, the rain—"

"No, Christine," he growled as he yanked his hand from hers. "Tell me. Do you love him?"

Christine stared at him disbelievingly. She couldn't believe this, didn't want to believe this. So, she decided to put on the most crucial performance of her life and confess to him what she knew he'd want to hear, what she hoped he would believe. "Yes, of course I love him, Raoul…loved him," she muttered, reluctantly correcting herself. "He gave me my voice, my entire being in a daunting time of solitude. He—"

"No," Raoul declared as he tenderly grabbed her shoulders. "Are you in love with him, Christine? Are you in love with the Phantom, with your fantastical Angel of Music? I must know! I cannot lose you because of him! I love you so much, so damn much…," he pathetically murmured as he pulled her into his arms. She could feel him trembling. _Oh, Raoul…_

They stood there for a long while, neither speaking. The rain suddenly began to pour, drenching them, thunder rumbling in the far off distance.

Raoul finally pulled away from her and looked desperately into her frightened eyes, "I'm sorry, Christine-love, I'm so sorry…,"

"No, Raoul," Christine whispered as she placed a finger upon his lips, "don't say that. It is I who should be sorry. I have hurt you deeply and you certainly don't deserve it…sometimes I wonder if I even deserve you," she whispered, looking away.

"God, no, please, Christine, don't speak of such things. I love you," he declared most ardently.

"I know, Raoul. I know. I love you, too. And…I am not in love with him," she murmured, hesitantly looking into his eyes. "I hope that you can believe that."

They both stood there in complete silence, the pouring rain a reflection of their thoughts, their ominous love. Christine desperately hoped that he believed her. She needed him, loved him. Yes, she was in love with another man, but she could never have him. Still, she wanted Raoul in her life, as her husband, despite what her very soul beckoned to her.

When he remained silent, Christine desperately continued. "Raoul," she said as she tenderly held his face in her hands and forced him to look at her, "you must understand. He was my constant companion in a time of complete solitude. He taught me to sing. He gave me the most precious gift, a voice I had longed for since I was a young child, since I could speak! Yes, I know he deceived me! Yes, I truly believed that I thought him to be the spirit my father promised to send me, and yes…I admit that once I came to find that he was indeed very much a man I became overwhelmed, even enthralled by him…confused," she quietly admitted, terrified that he could see the truth and not her ultimate deception, her love for her angel.

She continued most passionately, "But, I'm in love with you! It has always been you! I've loved you since I was ten years old, when you foolishly dove into the sea to fetch my scarf! I loved you still when you came to my dressing room after my debut performance and brought back sweet memories of our summer together! I loved you when you professed your undying love to me on the rooftop of the Paris Opera House the night of _Il Muto…_!" They were both silent then, remembering what else had occurred that night.

"Raoul, please," she pleaded, "believe me when I tell you that I'm not in love with him! Only you," she hesitated, "only you have my heart!" _But, not my soul, Raoul, never my soul, for that could only belong to him…_

Tears were now visibly streaming down her face despite the falling rain. She knew that she was the one doing the deceiving now, but she couldn't help herself. She was the one who pleaded with Raoul to promise her to always be true that night they're love was reawakened under the stars on the rooftop of the Opera House. Now, she felt like she was just like _him_. _What's happening to me…?_

She didn't want to hurt the only thing that was good in her life. Raoul never deceived her, never told her ridiculous stories of the so-called "Angel of Music" or of the curiously foolish "Little Lotte." He never claimed to be a hero. He never claimed to be her childhood fantasy. He was just Raoul, her charming Vicomte de Chagny, her husband. The man she loved. From the very beginning he had been her truth, her light, and because of that she would always love him. She couldn't lose him, not now…not ever. _Still…I do need you both, want you both. You foolish, selfish girl!_

After what felt an eternity, Raoul finally spoke, leaning his forehead against hers. "I hear you crying at night, Christine," he whispered. "I feel you trembling in my arms. I feel your tears on my skin. You believe me to be asleep those miserable nights…but, I hear you, Christine, and it…it kills me. My very soul aches because of it." He took her hands in his, fingering her diamond wedding band on her left ring finger, a symbol of their sacred love. Looking down at their joined hands, he continued, "I don't want to lose you, Christine. I understood your tears from months before, accepted them. But, now…now, I cannot help but believe you still cry because of him. Yet, not because of all the terrible things he'd done to you, not because of his ruthless attempts to take you away from me, of him trying to force you to love him, pitifully casting you under his menacing spell…but, because you miss him…because you love him."

"Please, Raoul…," she whispered, "don't do this." She couldn't bear it. She began crying uncontrollably, yet she didn't know if she was crying for Raoul or for _him_. She hated herself. She truly hated what she was doing to this wonderful, beautiful man.

"Hush, wife. I love you. But, I cannot remain silent on this any longer. I cannot," he replied as he wiped her tears from her precious face with his hands, comforting her just as he had that night on the roof.

"I understand," she cried softly as he embraced her once more.

"We'll get through this, Christine-love. I promise you. I won't leave you. I can't leave you. My heart, my soul…is yours. But, if you are in love with him, Christine, I'll truly—_"_

"Shh," she replied, looking into his eyes, "I'm in love with you, Raoul. Not him. Not ever. Trust me." _You can't trust me_,_ please, don't trust me_.

"Yes, Christine. I do trust you. I do," he finally murmured as he bent his head toward hers and kissed her deeply.

She returned his kiss, desperately holding onto him, loathing her deceitful heart even more. Despite her endless longings for her angel, her immense passion for him, she and Raoul enjoyed a charming marriage and a pleasurable marriage bed. There was no doubt of that. Yet, she never felt with him what she felt with her angel that night in his enigmatic lair and then, in front of all of Paris, on the stage where they passionately sang an aria from his opera, an opera that he wrote for _her_.

After a few moments, Christine finally pulled away, unable to think of him any longer. "Let's go inside now, darling," she murmured breathlessly, deciding to use the rain as an excuse, knowing it was because of _him_. "This rain is most unsettling." _My thoughts are most unsettling…_

"Yes, sweetheart, let's," he smiled tremulously, grasping her hand with his, entwining their fingers. Together, they returned to their regal home, their disillusioned happiness.

Once inside, Raoul waved off a few servants who steadily asked if the two wanted a warm bath and fresh clothes prepared immediately and continued walking to the grand staircase with Christine, hand in hand, neither concerned for their drenched clothes and shivering bodies. They stood in silence, staring hopelessly into one another's eyes for some time when Christine finally smiled softly, turned and began walking up the staircase.

Suddenly, she felt his arms around her, his head resting on her shoulder. "I love you, Christine," Raoul whispered, "_je t'aime_."

"_Je t'aime_, Raoul," Christine replied, turning to him and smiling sweetly, "for always."

"For always…," he repeated, though she could sense a vast reluctance in his voice, reluctance she also sensed three nights before when their lovemaking had been most fervent and she'd told him then that she'd love him for always.

Sensing his distraught, Christine desperately tried to purge his melancholy thoughts. "How about a nice warm bath, my love," she purred seductively into his ear as she turned to face him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Why, Christine de Chagny, are you trying to seduce me," Raoul asked, instantly smitten, as he looked into her fiery hazel eyes.

"Perhaps," she replied teasingly. "Why don't you come and find out…" She began walking toward their bedchambers, swaying her hips seductively. Raoul immediately ran up behind her and swept her up into his arms. She giggled and wrapped her arms lovingly around his neck.

"I love you, Christine, my lovely Vicomtesse," he smiled at her as they approached their chambers.

"And I love you, my handsome Vicomte," she murmured tenderly as she began kissing his neck.

Raoul moaned as he crossed the threshold into their most secret and seductive place, neither looking back, neither wanting to speak of _him_ again.

*******

Later that night, after their most pleasurable bath and scrumptious dinner, Christine lay in bed watching her sleeping husband, her mind plagued by guilt. She never meant for this to happen, never fathomed she'd become swept up in her own deceitful lies. The last thing in the world that she would ever want to do was hurt her husband. That night on the rooftop of the Opera House she had meant every vow she made to Raoul, to love him and share a lifetime with him. She meant every word.

Now, as she gazed down at him, her head propped up by her arm, the wind blowing through the open French doors to the balcony, Christine couldn't help but remember that night. Not only did she remember the moments of her reawakened love but she also remembered the haunting moments that found her and Raoul hastening up to the roof, to Heaven it would seem, to escape the Phantom…her angel.

Christine groaned and rolled over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. So many things had happened that night that had caused her to flee into Raoul's arms. She needed guidance, protection, a pure and safe love. She needed Raoul with her entire being. She needed light and truth. Raoul obtained all of these desperate desires, the desires that were a complete contrast to _him_. _Oh, angel, how I completely underestimated you, misjudged you. But, you deceived me…_

Raoul was light while _he_ was dark. Raoul was Heaven while _he_ was Hell. Raoul was innocent and safe while_ he_ was mysterious and dangerous…seductively dangerous. Raoul was charming and wholesome while _he_ was passionate and compelling. Yet, they both had one thing in common: _her_. They were both hopelessly and most devotedly in love with her…

She glanced over at Raoul as she thought of one last contrasting trait between the two men she loved. Raoul had been her romantic awakening while he was…

Christine swiftly sat upright. She was suddenly overwhelmed with the haunting contrasts in the two men she loved. The two men she constantly thought of. The two men she furtively compared. Raoul was truly her romantic awakening, her innocence, her childhood love. Her angel, the Phantom, was very much her passionate awakening, her final threshold into womanhood. He was the first man to ever convey such passion to her. The first man she had ever touched in such an erotic way. The first man she had ever let touch her in such a powerfully seductive way. She didn't understand it completely then, she was too naïve, too curious to care to understand, but now…

Now she understood completely…and she needed him more than she had ever needed him, ever needed anyone. _Stop! No more…just, no more! He deceived you, you selfish, foolish child! Despite what he made you feel, despite him inspiring your voice…he deceived you! _

Christine looked back over at Raoul, reaching her hand out to caress his cheek, his hair. _I love you so much, husband, so, so much._ She curled up next to him, laying her head on his bare shoulder and lovingly embracing him. While admiring her adoring husband, she began to reflect back on that night once more…the night their love was rekindled, the night that changed everything…

She had been completely terrified that night. Joseph Buquet, a lascivious and drunken stagehand, had accidentally hanged himself in the middle of a production of _Il Muto_. Christine shook her head, _well_, she thought sardonically, _that's what some believed or would have wished to believe. _But she knew the truth. _He_ had killed Buquet. The mysteriously obsessive Phantom of the Opera had killed that malicious stagehand in a fit of rage.

It had all began the morning after her angel had first abducted her. He'd sent the managers of the Opera House, Raoul, the exasperating prima donna La Carlotta, and the aloof ballet mistress, her loving guardian, Madame Giry, threatening notes. He was desperate to make Christine the everlasting ingénue of the Paris Opera House. It would seem that he'd stop at nothing for his wish, his deepest desire, to be fulfilled. So much so that he'd kill….

Christine shivered as she recalled seeing Buquet dangling from above the stage, the Phantom's menacing Punjab lasso around his neck. It had been one ordeal for her angel to lash out at her because of her foolish curiosity, ripping off his mask, exposing his darkest insecurity, but for him to kill, to murder without so much as a thought because she wasn't placed in the leading role of _Il Muto_ as he'd so furiously demanded…terrified her. Thus, while chaos erupted, she found herself pursuing Raoul backstage and most desperately journeying to the roof…to Heaven, the safest and farthest place from her angel's underworld. She never once thought he'd already be up there, lurking, listening… _Oh, angel…_

Once on the roof, she had frantically confided to Raoul what had occurred that night when her angel, the Phantom, had abducted her from her dressing room and brought her to his mysterious underworld…his threatening darkness. She told him how she'd seen his deformed face. _It was never your face, angel, as I had once thought. Never your beautiful face…_, she thought shamefully.

She had also admitted that despite his eternal darkness, his deformed face…his voice, his music had filled her with such passion, such wonder. She'd been strangely enthralled and slightly reluctant. Yet, Raoul hadn't believed her. He'd attempted to comfort her, pleading with her that it was just a dream. But it wasn't a dream. It had been real…hauntingly real. Her Angel of Music wasn't just a flesh and blood man but the Phantom of the Opera! She'd been profoundly overwhelmed by the two discoveries that night.

She'd recalled his amber eyes which had gazed at her with such passion…with such fear, such sadness. But, no matter what her impassioned thoughts were, no matter what she'd confided to Raoul, he hadn't believed her. Instead, he'd comforted her, loved her. But, most desperately, he had purged her thoughts of _him_. He had promised her his eternal love and in a moment of weakness, of desperate longing, she'd fallen in love with the boy from that summer by the sea once again, no longer thinking of her angel, but of the sanctuary Raoul could provide her with. _Oh, angel, if only you hadn't frightened me. If only you hadn't killed another human being…If only I hadn't been so selfish, so naïve._

She'd felt so many emotions that night. The realization that her angel, the Phantom of the Opera, was a murderer was vastly overwhelming. She couldn't bear it, couldn't believe it…didn't want to believe it. So, she fell into the arms of Raoul, her security, her light…her truth. _Oh, Raoul…I never meant to deceive you. If only I hadn't deceived myself…_

They'd become engaged almost immediately that night, and for six wondrous months she and Raoul embarked on a secret engagement, spending every waking moment together, growing and falling in love, just as they had during their summer by the sea. Yet, this wasn't a child's innocent first love any longer, now it was an impassioned love affair, one Christine could never truly regret.

For those six blissful months her angel, the Phantom of the Opera, had disappeared. She'd secretly wondered why her angel hadn't clandestinely spoken with her, hadn't continued his notorious havoc upon the Opera House. She truly thought he'd abandoned her, that her angel was gone, that, perhaps, the infamous opera ghost was gone. It had never once occurred to her that he'd discovered her and Raoul's engagement, that he'd sealed himself away within the depths of the Opera House, vigorously finishing his opera. The iniquitous opera he'd written for her, for them. _Angel…_

Christine sighed, purging thoughts of her angel from her mind. But the attempt was in complete vain. For, as she found herself slowly falling asleep, she couldn't help but wonder about him. Wonder if he was all right, if he was still very much alone…if he still thought of her…

*******

Erik found himself standing upon the threshold to Berenice's newfound home. It was a quaint cottage, far from extravagant. Yet, it seemed very fitting for Berenice's prudent lifestyle. There were several yellow rose bushes surrounding the front of the cottage and a few trees scatter about the yard. _So simple, so lovely,_ he thought amiably.

He stood there for a while longer, irrationally avoiding the inevitable. He looked down at his hands, he was trembling.

Finally, he took a deep breath and knocked most gently on the door. After some time, it finally opened and Erik found himself staring into dark, almond shaped eyes.

"Erik, you've come," said a soft but powerful voice. "I've missed you so, endlessly worrying about you—"

Suddenly, Berenice began to cry as Erik found himself ardently embracing her, tears rolling down his deformed face. Never once had he held another human being in his entire life, except for Christine...and that had been her embracing him, for he'd been too overwhelmed, too distraught to understand what had been happening to him, what he'd been feeling…

They held another for a long time then, Berenice finally pulling out of his embrace and looking intently into his saddened amber eyes. "Come, let's go inside. We've much to discuss, Erik. So much…"


	6. Confessions

_**Chapter Five: Confessions**_

"Six months is a long time, Erik," Berenice quietly stated, finally breaking the deafening silence between them. Once she'd invited him inside she had brought him to the sitting room. They were both seated across from another, noticeably uncomfortable. Undoubtedly frightened of the looming conversation they both knew would soon commence.

"Yes, I know," he replied softly. He rose from the plush velvet chair and walked over to the arched window, gazing up at the clear blue sky. It was a beautiful summer day, one that he'd wish he could enjoy. He couldn't remember if he'd ever enjoyed a summer day in his entire eight and thirty years.

"When did you return to the Opera House," she reluctantly asked. He could hear a slight tremble in her voice.

He sighed and turned to face her. She was sitting perfectly straight on another velvet chair, clearly observing his every move. She wore an olive green day dress, her dark hair pulled back in a chignon. She seemed tired. Perhaps she was just as exhausted as he. The trip had taken him a few days, after all. Yet, he knew his exhaustion wasn't from the long journey. The emotional stress was beginning to take its toll on him, especially now, as he stared into Berenice's worried eyes. There was such sadness, such relief in those dark eyes. He missed her, he truly did.

"I returned just a few days ago. Once I'd found your letter I immediately left the city to find you." He began pacing about, observing the picturesque sitting room. There was a small fireplace against the middle of the wall to the right of the arched window. A few velvet chairs and one sofa, all the color of dark rouge with gold embroidery, sat about the room with a Louis XVI inspired coffee table in the center of it all. Unlit candelabra were spread throughout the room along with a few paintings. And, Erik contentedly noticed, a few bookshelves, all completely filled.

"It is a relief then that you decided to pursue me at once, Erik. Such a relief…," she muttered, looking down at her hands lying neatly in her lap. Erik slightly smiled. She had always been most proper. Her aura alone would make one believe that she was an aristocratic woman. Yet, that was far from the truth. She was so much more, despite her lack of noble blood. _My savoir…_

"I noticed a horse outside the cottage, a seemingly familiar horse," she continued, an eyebrow raised up ever so slightly. "Care to explain?"

Erik turned once more toward the window and observed the white horse tied to a tree, peacefully gazing about his new surroundings. "Indeed, I would hope you'd recognize him. I decided to _borrow_ him from the Opera House once I observed that it was completely abandoned. He's been with me for a while now. I presumed he would no longer be needed," he responded sardonically.

"And how was the long journey for poor César," Berenice asked with a small smile.

"Please, Berenice, just…please, don't," Erik pleaded sadly, both knowing what he meant. He didn't want to delay the inevitable any longer. Six agonizing months had been long enough.

"Erik," she spoke quietly as she rose from her chair and walked toward him. She gently laid a hand on his shoulder, causing him to flinch. Despite his long friendship with Berenice, despite his passionate encounters with Christine, it was difficult for him to accept any kind of affection. A mere touch was unbearable, completely foreign. _Save me…_

"Please, let me speak," he quietly interrupted. He turned to her, peering deeply into her eyes. "I want to thank you for returning my score. It meant everything to me. It still means everything to me…it's all I have left in this lonely world."

"No, Erik, don't say such things. You have me. You'll always have me," Berenice declared most tenderly as she placed her left hand on his masked cheek.

"How can you say such things? After everything that I did to you, to your family, how can you possibly still want me in your life," he furiously demanded.

"Because, Erik, I'm your friend," she paused, gazing up into his miserable amber eyes, before continuing most fervently, "because for twenty long years I have most desperately tried to understand you, to help you! When I saw you locked in that cage all those years ago, something inside me—"

"No," Erik abruptly yelled, "I don't want to speak of this! Not now, not ever! All I want to speak of his _her_. Of your betrayal that night! I know it was you who led the Vicomte to my lair! It could have only been you! Why, Berenice," he demanded as he roughly grabbed her shoulders, "why did you betray me?"

"Betray you," she nearly screamed at him. He'd never seen her so livid in their entire twenty year companionship and it terrified him.

"Why do you even ask such things? You had gone completely mad, Erik! First, murdering Joseph Buquet! And, for what…because the managers didn't oblige you, because they wouldn't place Christine in the leading role of a damn opera! Damn it, Erik," she cried, suddenly becoming hysterical, "you murder Ubaldo Piangi so you can sing on stage with Christine in your wicked opera, deceiving her once more! The trap the managers and the Vicomte had set for you was fatal and you damn well knew it! You not only risked your life on that stage, but Christine's as well! I was petrified for her…for you! Don't you see what you did throughout your outrageous schemes," she asked scornfully, glaring into his eyes, his very soul, "you lost her, Erik. You lost the only pure thing in your life, the only woman you've ever loved. You lost your soul, Erik, your inspiration. We both know that she was everything to you and your madness, your obsession, lost her!"

She aggressively pulled from his embrace and turned away from him, pacing most desperately. She finally spoke, her voice most threatening, her glaring eyes a frightening omen of what was to come. "You know damn well why I did it, Erik, to protect Christine! To save her from your madness! I meant every word in that letter I left for you several months ago, that I knew you'd let her go, that I'd always believed you truly loved her! But, it was over, Erik! You made certain of that the minute Christine learned of your deception, of your murdering soul! I couldn't protect you any longer and I certainly wasn't going to deny the Vicomte the chance to save her! In my heart I knew you'd free her…but my mind felt differently at the time."

She paused, looking down at the floor, as if she felt it would give her the courage, the patience, to continue on. She eventually looked up at him once more, tears in her dark eyes. Her voice was soft, "And…I wanted her to have a choice. I never wanted you to make that choice for her! She loved the Vicomte…loves the Vicomte! Yes, perhaps having the two of you pleading your love for her in your twisted Hell would have made the absurd situation even worse for her...but, I did it all for her…for you! With the Vicomte there, I truly felt that you'd come to your senses, seeing their love…," she reluctantly muttered.

"I knew that if you forced her to stay with you that she'd never forgive you! That you'd never forgive yourself! Damn you, Erik! Can't you see what your obsessive soul had done to you…has done to you? Couldn't you see what it was doing to Christine? I wasn't only protecting her, I was protecting you! If she'd been forced to stay with you, without any inkling of a choice, she would have come to loathe you! And I….," she began sobbing, "I didn't want that to happen, I didn't want you to face a deeper heartbreak any longer! Enough had already happened! Damn you," she finally screamed, roughly pushing him, causing him to fall back against the wall. _My God, what have I done…?_

After a few chillingly tense moments she stared into his eyes, "And don't you ever touch me like that again."

They were both silent then. Erik was in complete distress. He'd never been so frightened in his entire being, never been so tormented. Not since that night… If Berenice couldn't forgive him, if she was this distraught, then he could only imagine how Christine felt. _She'll never love me, never forgive me…_

Suddenly, Erik sensed someone enter the room. He turned toward the entrance and froze. It was little Meg Giry. She looked concerned, frightened. She was a petite girl, her body reflecting her profession as a ballet dancer. She was the same age as Christine, just the innocent age of eighteen. She had golden blonde hair, long curls cascading down her back. He noticed a blue ribbon in her hair that brought out the deep blue in her dazzling eyes. She wore a pale yellow day dress, white lace embroidered upon the sleeves. _Complete innocence, perhaps even more so than Christine._

"Mama," her quiet voice seemed to echo throughout the tension filled room, "is everything all right—," she stopped, gasping. She had seen him and he saw her tense. "What is _he _doing here? You promised—"

"Leave us, Meg," Berenice forcefully demanded.

"But, Mama—"

"Meg, do what I ask of you, please." Berenice stared intently into her young daughter's eyes.

"Yes, Mama," Meg reluctantly responded as she looked at him one last time before leaving the room.

Berenice went and sat in a chair beside the fireplace and let out an exasperated sigh. "Sit, Erik. Please, sit," she quietly asked of him as she motioned her hand toward the chair across from her.

Slowly he walked toward the chair, but instead of sitting he knelt down beside her and took her hands in his. "I'm so sorry, Berenice," he whispered as he caressed her right hand against his unmasked cheek, "so very sorry." Tears began to fall down his face and almost immediately he felt them fall upon his hand that lay in Berenice's lap. But, they weren't his, they were hers. He looked up into her sad face. "Please, forgive me. I know that there is still so much to say, but promise me that you'll forgive me."

"Oh, Erik," she murmured as she took her hands from his and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, "I already have, a long time ago, _mon ami_."

Erik sobbed and vehemently returned her embrace. They stayed like that for a long while, neither wanting to break the bittersweet moment.

He was such a selfish fool. He never meant to callously accuse Berenice of her supposed betrayal. Now, as he truly reflected upon that night, he'd come to realize Berenice never betrayed him, just as Christine hadn't. He had gone completely mad and though he never would have harmed Christine, Berenice had done the right thing when she led the Vicomte down into his dark labyrinth, to his Hell.

Still, he constantly wondered what would have occurred between him and Christine if the Vicomte had never appeared. He had felt there had been a moment between the two of them, despite it being a horrid one. Christine had most passionately told him that it was his obsessive soul that was his true deformity, not his haunting face. But, he truly felt he was beginning to listen…to understand. He felt that Christine was going to help him, to save him…that, come what may, the two would truly discover their true selves and finally be able to have a pure and passionate love. _Fool_.

Yes, he was grateful for Berenice. If the Vicomte hadn't discovered his lair, hadn't come to Christine's rescue, he would have truly compelled her into staying with him for eternity, and because of that, she would never have forgiven him. If it hadn't been for his threat on the Vicomte's life, Christine never would have kissed him, embraced him…he never would have let her go. He silently laughed at himself. _Ironic_, he thought scathingly, _it had been your damn ultimatum, your damn threat on her lover's life that had saved her from your ominous Hell. That had caused you to let her go…forever. Her kiss had changed everything… _

Erik finally pulled away and gazed intently into Berenice's eyes. "I understand why you did it, why you showed the Vicomte where to find me. It has taken me months to comprehend why you did it, but now I know and I'm deeply sorry for ever doubting you, Berenice. I just loved her so much, wanted her so desperately. I still love her, still want her. My angel, I miss her so…," he whispered as more tears fell down his cheeks and he laid his head on Berenice's lap, "so much."

"I know, Erik. I know. Hush now, everything is going to be all right. I promise you." Berenice began caressing his dark hair, soothing him as one would a child. He still very much was a child. "Erik, I truly believe that you'll find redemption, that…Christine will forgive you."

Erik tensed and hastily looked up at her, hope in his amber eyes. "Do you really think she'll forgive me? I doubt I'll ever see her again. How will I ever know if she'll forgive me? There is so much I wish to say to her, need to say to her, Berenice."

"Yes, I know. And I understand, Erik," she looked away for a moment. "I cannot promise you that you'll ever see her again. But, perhaps, if you find forgiveness within yourself…then you'll find that same forgiveness with her. She's a special person, Erik. Remember that. You should have more faith in her, in yourself."

"I'll never forget that, Berenice. She is the most extraordinary woman I've ever known…," he whispered sadly. "I need her, Berenice. I miss her."

"Oh, Erik," she murmured.

"Please, I must know," Erik reluctantly muttered, "did they marry?"

She was quiet for some time, avoiding his desperate eyes completely. "Yes, Erik," she finally admitted. "They married quietly in February. Meg still sees Christine every so often. But, she has told me that they have never spoken of you…of that night. Not once. Meg is so incredibly gracious that she doesn't dare ask and Christine hasn't touched upon the subject whatsoever…" She paused before continuing, "Raoul and his brother, Philippe, the Comte de Chagny, are the new patrons of _Le Musée du Louvre_—" Erik looked away then, abruptly standing. "I'm sorry, Erik. The last time Meg met with Christine was a few weeks ago and she said that she seemed very happy. But, Erik," she pleaded as she walked toward him and forced him to face her, "that doesn't mean that she still can't be in your life—"

"Yes, it does," he despairingly growled. "That night I gave her an ultimatum, Berenice! I made her choose between the two of us, just as you had anticipated when you led the Vicomte to my lair. It's impossible for us both to be in her life…and it's my fault! Damn it!" Erik suddenly picked up an empty vase and threw it across the room, hitting the wall.

"Erik," Berenice yelled as she grabbed him by the shoulders and most feverishly slapped him. "Stop it! Stop this, now!" She grabbed his face between her hands, "You mustn't forget the years you and Christine had together. Yes, you deceived her, betrayed her! But, you must remember the wondrous times you had together. You helped her pursue her dreams, her desires. You inspired her angelic voice! You were her one companion in a time of solitude. You must know that because of those circumstances alone she will always care for you, always long for you! She may be in love with the Vicomte, she may be his wife, but, Erik, we both know that you and Christine have a love that her and the Vicomte could never possibly have—"

"Love," he growled. How can you say that," he painstakingly asked, pushing away from her. "You couldn't possibly know what transpired that night in my dark underworld! You didn't have to listen to her words of hate, didn't have to see her tears! You didn't have to hear her passionately tell you how you deceived her! You didn't have to see her leave with the very man you'd come to loathe, even though he'd done nothing but love the same woman as you, knowing all the while it would be impossible to resist her, impossible to not love her! Love," he spoke mockingly, "how could she possibly love me now, after everything I've done to her?"

He suddenly fell into a chair, his face falling into his hands. _Defeat, I have only known defeat my entire life..._

They both fell silent once more, Erik breathing heavily, silently weeping. He could hear Berenice walking across the room, eventually sitting down. She released a long sigh.

"Tell me, Berenice," he demanded, breaking the dismal silence, "does she still sing?"

When Berenice didn't respond immediately, Erik looked up from his hands and bore deeply into her eyes. She rested her forehead in her right hand, never once making eye contact with him.

"My, God," Erik murmured, as he made an ominous revelation, "she doesn't sing. My Angel of Music no longer sings! I cannot believe this!" He rose from the chair and walked once more to the window, leaning his arms on either side, looking down at the plush floor. "Why, Berenice? Why does she no longer sing? Tell me," he demanded quietly.

"I don't know, Erik. Truly, I don't know," she responded, clearly emotionally spent. "Meg has tried on numerous occasions to find the answer to that startling question. But, Christine won't speak of it any longer. All she has confided to Meg is that she no longer feels inspired to sing. But, my suspicion is because—"

"It's because of him! We both know it's because of him," Erik furiously growled as he began pacing the room, "It's—"

"No, Erik," Berenice interrupted compellingly, "it's because of you! I truly believe it's because of you! You were her inspiration. Her illustrious Angel of Music!" She slowly rose and carefully walked toward him. "She needs you, Erik."

"How can you be so sure? When was the last time you spoke with her," he asked miserably.

"I haven't seen nor spoken with her since her wedding, Erik. But, it's a mother's intuition, a woman's intuition. Perhaps the Vicomte has her heart, Erik. But I truly believe that you have her mind, her soul…," she murmured. "She needs you, Erik. Trust me."

"I don't want false hope, Berenice. Please, don't say such things. Not now. Now, I just need peace. I need time. Perhaps then we can speak of this—"

"Perhaps then…," she hesitantly spoke, "perhaps then, the two of you can be reunited. Perhaps then you can finally be together. Not—," she ardently continued when he tried to interrupt, "not, as lovers, but as companions. You need her, Erik. You declared so most passionately only moments ago…so, then, why can't the two of you be together? You obviously can't live without her and just because the two of you can never be husband and wife…well, that doesn't mean you still cannot be in her life."

"I'm sure it's not that simple," he replied sadly.

"No, of course it isn't that simple, nothing is ever simple. But, Erik," she sighed, "please, promise me that you'll take time for yourself, that you'll try to find forgiveness within yourself. Then, and only then, can you consider pursuing her again. I know in my heart that you want her back in your life and I believe that she wants you, too."

He was silent for a long while, for what felt like an eternity. Perhaps Berenice was right. He knew she was right in one aspect. He desperately wanted Christine back in his life. Except, this time, he would do things right. He wouldn't deceive her. He wouldn't compel her into loving him. But, most importantly, he wouldn't seduce her with his music, with his very soul. She was in love with the Vicomte. She was his wife now! He would never force them apart again. _Never…_

Yet, he was completely distraught that she no longer sang. That she stopped pursuing the stage after the incident. And it was all because of him. _You're right, Berenice. I need her and I truly believe she needs me. But, when will the time be right…_

Erik shook his head and stared at Berenice, her eyes burning through him in return. "You're right," he quietly stated.

"Oh, Erik," she exhaled. "Thank you. Thank you so much." She embraced him then. He could hear her weeping, feel her trembling. He wrapped his arms around her strong body, never wanting to let go. _You're all I have, Berenice…you and my music._

"Well," she proclaimed, as she looked up into his eyes, wiping tears from her own, "shall I ask Meg to prepare the spare bedroom for you? Please, say you'll stay, Erik. I would love it very much if you stay."

Erik took her hands in his and kissed them. "I doubt Meg will want me here. I can—"

"Nonsense," Berenice replied, shaking her head. "She's just worried, that's all. You must remember that Christine was her dearest friend."

"Yes, I know," he said gloomily.

"Just give her some time. Everything will be all right," she smiled. "Come, let's get you settled. Have you brought anything with you?"

"Yes. I brought a satchel filled with a few shirts and pants. And…I brought my score," he muttered.

Berenice stared at him devotedly. "We have a music room, Erik," she hastily admitted. "Please, feel free to play whenever you like."

They stood there for a moment, staring at one another, both tremulously smiling. _Music…_ _My music…_

"Well," Berenice spoke, relief in her voice, "welcome to our home, Erik. I'll ask Meg to prepare the room for you—"

Her words became muffled as Erik embraced her once more, he was truly touched. "Thank you, Berenice. I am eternally grateful—"

"Hush, Erik. I know. I already know," she murmured.

He pulled away from her and looked into her now smiling eyes. She continued, "I'm so very happy you have returned. I must confess that I…need you in my life."

Shocked by her bold confession, Erik shook his head and took her delicate face between his hands and kissed her forehead. "I need you in my life, too, Berenice. I always have."


	7. Acceptance

_**Chapter Six: Acceptance **_

"Raoul, are you listening to me," Philippe, the Comte de Chagny, asked, irritation in his voice, "Raoul!"

Raoul fell out of his dismal reverie and looked up at his brother from across his desk. They were in his office at _Le Musée du Louvre_, discussing business, when his mind began to slip away, thinking of the past week and his troubles with Christine.

"I'm sorry, brother. What were you saying," he asked reluctantly, completely embarrassed.

Philippe sighed and sat down across from him, "It's all right," he responded softly. "Tell me, little brother, how goes it with your lovely wife? It seems to me," he continued, staring intently into Raoul's dazed green eyes, "that the only time you're distracted like this is when there's something amiss between you and Christine. Want to speak of it?"

Raoul sighed, gazing out a small window. Yes, he was completely distracted, completely distraught. This past week with Christine had been most disconcerting. He knew she'd desperately tried to comfort him, but it hadn't work. Deep in his heart he knew she was in love with that damn Phantom and it killed him. _Have you truly become this pathetic? _He hated himself. _Perhaps you should leave her… _Raoul immediately shook his head at the disheartening thought. _Never…_

"Well, then," he heard Philippe say as he stood up and walked over to the liquor cabinet, "how about a drink? It seems we could both use one," he continued, clearly exasperated.

"I'm sorry, Philippe," Raoul responded, frustratingly massaging his temples, staring down at his desk. "Yes, there is much amiss between Christine and me. I just…I'm just so damn tired."

Philippe returned to his desk, setting down two glasses of superb French brandy, "Well, let's hear of it. You know I'm here for you."

Raoul picked up his glass, took a swig and then stared at his brother, concern in his eyes. Philippe was twenty years his senior, the established age of two and forty. He had the same de Chagny green eyes as himself and light brown hair. He was impeccably dressed, wearing a dark green dress shirt with a gold and black embroidered vest and black pantaloons. Quite the contrary to himself, considering he was wearing brown pantaloons and a white dress shirt and vest. He never cared much for fashion as his brother had. Philippe was taller than the average man, his athletic physique quite daunting. However, his intimidating aristocratic features contrasted his true self. He was an incredibly charismatic and charming man, extremely beloved by the _beau monde_. He was also the most brilliant man Raoul had ever known, the best of men.

"We discussed _him_ the other day," Raoul softly spoke, "after six excruciating months, we finally spoke of him."

"I take it you didn't care for the outcome," Philippe quietly asked.

"Quite the opposite, actually," he stated, taking another sip of brandy. "Christine adamantly assured me that she's not in love with him, that she's only in love with me. That it has always been me…," he murmured.

Raoul rose from his chair, gazing about the room. His office wasn't as grand as his brother's, which was located down the hall, but it was quite comfortable. It contained a sitting area with lavish chairs, a small fireplace and book filled shelves. There were numerous paintings and sculptures throughout the room and his mahogany desk sat in a corner, two small windows next to it.

He walked over to the unlit fireplace, staring at nothing. The silence between the two men continued. He wanted to tell Philippe everything, his thoughts, his feelings. Yet, he felt that if he said it aloud then it would be all too real, too haunting…and it horrified him.

"I don't believe her, Philippe, and it frightens me," he finally admitted, speaking softly. He turned to his brother then, "I truly believe that she's in love with him. I don't doubt that she loves me. I just don't believe that she's in love with me. She says it's always been me, but I think it's always been…him." Tears began to fill his eyes and he dejectedly fell into a chair across from the fireplace, leaning his head in his left hand, his brandy in the other. "I don't know what to do, brother. I seriously don't know what to do. All I know is I can't leave her. I won't leave her."

Philippe was quiet for some time before joining Raoul near the fireplace. He sat down across from him, sadness in his eyes. "Before you say anything, brother, I will tell you now, I don't want your pity." Raoul declared.

"You shan't have it then, Raoul. You must remember that I lost my one and only love, too—"

"I haven't lost Christine," Raoul interrupted bitterly.

"Are you sure, little brother? She may not be dead, but her loving another man…well, some may believe that's much worse," Philippe roughly stated.

"It's more complicated than that."

"Yes, I understand that. I couldn't possibly comprehend what you're going through," he muttered.

"No, of course you possibly couldn't. You and Odette had the idyllic marriage, both completely and devotedly in love with another," Raoul observed sardonically. _Just as I am with Christine…why can't you love me and me alone, Christine?_

Raoul reflected on Philippe's deceased wife, the beautiful and magnanimous Odette, Comtesse de Chagny. They'd married the summer before he and Christine had first met. She was a charming woman, completely in love with her husband. She and Philippe had only been married for four short years before a sudden illness had taken her life. Odette was the young age of five and twenty when she'd died, Philippe, twelve years her senior, just seven and thirty. He was profoundly distraught, so much so that he swore he'd never marry again, despite him and Odette never having produced an heir. It was a pledge that the de Chagny family wasn't pleased with. Producing heirs was priority in their noble family, with any noble family, and Philippe's declaration to never marry again alarmed the de Chagny's immeasurably, putting immense pressure on Raoul to produce an heir with Christine. _An heir…_

"I'm sorry, Philippe. I'm just so—"

"Don't apologize. It's all right. Considering the circumstances, it's perfectly reasonable for you to be upset," Philippe reassured him.

Raoul set his glass down upon an end table then folded his hands in his lap. "Tell me what to do, Philippe. I need you to tell me what I should do, because I'm most certainly out of ideas. Those three months Christine and I spent at the de Chagny estate in southern France after we married were complete bliss. Yes, there were times when she seemed distraught, distant even, but I understood then. Her life changed quite dramatically after her debut as the principal ingénue at the Paris Opera House. Much has changed since then…," he murmured. "Now…now, I wonder if I'm as lost as she is…," he whispered sadly.

"You've loved Christine since you were fourteen years old, Raoul," Philippe observed. "I remember how ecstatic you were that summer once you first met her. You came running to tell me how adorable she was, how innocent. I had never seen you so happy," Philippe merrily recollected.

"She was ten, Philippe, of course she was innocent. She's still very innocent, very much that blissfully unaware little girl…," he replied.

"Exactly, little brother, that's exactly my point! She's still that innocent little girl and she needs you now, especially now!"

"I cannot wait forever. I—"

"You only said a few moments ago that you cannot leave her! Raoul, she loves you! And, yes, she may love another man, but I'm sure you can understand why. From what you've told me of her allusive relationship with this man—"

"No, no, no," Raoul yelled as he aggressively stood and leaned his arms against the fireplace. "Don't tell me she loves him. They never had a relationship, Philippe! He deceived her for years, claiming to be her childhood fantasy, the Angel of Music! It's absurd to believe they had a relationship."

"How can you say that? You told me yourself that he was her teacher, her surrogate father, for years in a time of complete solitude! How can you not believe they didn't have a relationship," he rhetorically asked, throwing his hands up in the air. "Of course they had a relationship, Raoul! You must accept that. He was an important part of her life. Of course she loves him for all the good he did for her. But that doesn't mean she's in love with him, Raoul. Think of it."

"I have," Raoul angrily replied. "I think of it constantly. But, damn it, Philippe! You were there the night of _Don Juan Triumphant_. You saw the startling passion between them on that stage while they sang one of the most erotically impassioned songs I'd ever heard! A song he wrote for her, for them! It was unbearable to watch, to listen! Yet, I was completely enthralled…disturbingly mesmerized! I stood backstage, hopelessly watching them. I knew it was him! All of Paris may have been fooled until Christine tragically revealed him, but I knew it was him! Her eyes, her voice…her soul, gave it away completely! I hated her in those moments, but I couldn't possibly lose her…not to him! I love her, Philippe! I love her so much!" He began sobbing then. "So how the hell can you say that she's not in love with him? I saw it for myself, not only on that damn stage but in his twisted underworld when she so passionately kissed him!"

Philippe sighed and slowly walked toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Raoul," he whispered, "she's an actress. It was her duty to—"

"Don't try to comfort me, Philippe," Raoul growled, pulling away from him. "I saw her in numerous rehearsals for that iniquitous opera and she damn well didn't have that passionately seductive chemistry with Ubaldo Piangi as she did with the Phantom, her fucking angel," he screamed.

"Raoul—"

He scoffed then, cutting his brother off, before turning to look out the window. "Sometimes I even wonder if I knew it that night on the roof of the Opera House, when we'd fallen in love again. She most fervently had spoken of him then, but I didn't believe her. I thought it all to be a dream, that her Angel of Music was an innocent fantasy, a figurative spirit that her father spoke of when we were children! While the Phantom of the Opera was an absurd tale imagined by those employed with the Opera House." He turned toward Philippe once more, "But, now as I think of it, Philippe, I knew then. I knew then on the very night I promised her my eternal love, she was in love with him. It's twistingly ironic, isn't it brother," he asked pathetically, a mocking tone in his voice.

"Raoul," Philippe pleaded, "Please, calm down. Sit and listen to what I have to say. Will you, please?"

Raoul stared at Philippe then, anger in his green eyes. He sighed, sitting down in his chair once more. "From the very beginning our marriage has been a fatal illusion and I think it has all finally caught up with me," he stated miserably. "It's killing me…and destroying her!" He paused before continuing, "Meanwhile, we have yet to conceive a child!"

"Don't," Philippe demanded, "don't even think of a child. Don't make this situation even more stressful for yourself. You must find a solution with Christine before the two of you even consider having a child. It wouldn't be fair to either of you…to the child."

"I know, I know. You're right. You're always right."

"Of course I'm always right," Philippe jested. "But, that's all beside the point. Now, listen to me," he continued, sitting across from Raoul. "So much has happened in Christine's eighteen years, Raoul. You must remember that! She's lost both her parents and loved two very different men…in two very different ways. And just think of this past year alone," he declared, looking intently into Raoul's eyes. "In the past year she discovered that her Angel of Music, her one companion who she thought was a spirit sent to her by her deceased father, was indeed very much a man! And not just any man, but the Phantom of the Opera! She became the principal ingénue of the Opera House, only to have it taken away from her six months later when she decided to marry you instead of continuing her career on the stage—"

"Philippe, we both know that—"

"I'm not finished, little brother. Please, just listen." Raoul nodded, knowing that his wise brother was sure to have some crazed philosophical answer behind his and Christine's tumultuous love. "Yes, I'm sure the debacle that occurred between the three of you that night in his underworld was a major part of her decision to give up the stage, but her entire dream, her entire being, ended that night when she left with you. She's a Vicomtesse now, Raoul, and we both know that it would be unacceptable for a Vicomtesse to perform on the stage, especially a de Chagny!" He paused, looking down at the floor, sighing. "Raoul," he continued most grievously, "I'm truly sorry for all that has happened this past year, but you cannot believe that you didn't have any inkling of what your marriage to Christine would be like. Even if the Phantom is truly dead—"

"He's not dead, Philippe. He's still out there. I can feel it," Raoul angrily interrupted.

"Fine, perhaps he is alive. But, what I'm saying is despite him physically being out of your lives, he'll always be inside her mind. He gave her everything she'd ever wanted, her voice, companionship." He let out an exasperating sigh, "What I'm trying to say is, Raoul, that if you truly love her, if you truly want to spend the rest of your life with her…falling asleep in her arms every night, waking up in those same precious arms every morning, spending your days together…" Philippe smiled tremulously then, sadness in his eyes. Raoul knew he was thinking of Odette. His eyes had begun to fill with tears. He looked up at Raoul, continuing once more, "Raoul, you risked your life for her six months ago. You couldn't have possibly foreseen what could occur down in the Phantom's lair, but, nonetheless, you knew it'd be dangerous. He's a murderer, damn it! And yet, you still went down there to save Christine! So, you tell me, little brother, do you love her? Is she worth this emotional despair? She was certainly worth it then! Has anything truly changed? He's going to be a part of her for the rest of her life…you're just going to have to accept it, as much as you may not like it, or…you'll lose her forever and then you'll go mad…," he murmured.

Silence…there was nothing but complete silence between the two men for a long while. Raoul knew Philippe was right. For, what if Christine had stayed with the Phantom? What if the Phantom had never let her go? Then, it would be the Phantom going mad with Christine's emotional betrayal. It would be the Phantom fighting with Christine over him. The two of them would always be a part of her life. But, he was her husband, damn it, and she belonged to him. He knew it would be immensely difficult to acknowledge her love for the Phantom…_for her angel..._ But, he would do it for her. He was physically in her life while the Phantom was not. He could hold her, be with her…make love to her, while the Phantom couldn't. Christine was his wife and he loved her with his entire heart!

Yes, he would get through this, and in time, perhaps he and Christine could live a blissfully unburdened life. _I love you, Christine…I couldn't resist you when we were young and innocent and I certainly cannot resist you now…as the woman you've so passionately become, despite the lost little girl inside of you. I only hope you'll let me truly save you…_

Tears began to fall down his face as he deeply thought of his beautiful wife. He wouldn't leave her. He'd love her with his entire soul as he promised her one year ago upon the roof of the Opera House. And together they'd live a happy life. They'd have many children and everything…_will be all right._ He just hoped that his acceptance of Christine loving two men for entirely different reasons wouldn't destroy him in the end.

"Raoul," Philippe spoke, interrupting his thoughts. "Raoul, are you all right? You're crying."

Raoul looked at his brother, wiping the tears from his cheeks, "Yes, I'm fine. For the first time in six months I'm convinced that everything is going to be all right." He rose then, taking his brother by the hand. "Thank you, Philippe. Thank you so much. I'm in your debt." They hugged then, patting another on the back.

"Think nothing of it, little brother. I love you. You're my family, my best friend! I believe everything with you and Christine will work out in the end. And if not, then it's certainly not the end. Only time will tell. Just remember, she loves you!"

He walked toward the door then, taking Raoul's brown dress coat off the coat rack, "Here," he said, tossing his coat to him, "go home to your wife and make passionate love to her, Raoul. Remember, she's yours and she always will be, no matter who or what haunts her mind, she's yours. Don't let your insecurities take over. You're a brilliant, charming man and Christine is incredibly fortunate to have you. Remember that." Philippe smiled then, took his highly fashionable black dress coat and top hat and left the office.

_Yes, Philippe, I shall go home and make love to my beautiful wife. She is mine, forever…_, Raoul thought satisfyingly as he put his coat on, taking his own black top hat off the rack and placing it on his head. He would no longer allow the Phantom to come between him and Christine again.

He left his office then, a smile on his handsome face.

*******

Erik watched as the blonde haired beauty went about the garden picking flowers for her mother. He'd only been here for a week and already Erik had noticed several habits the young dancer had, for instance, picking fresh flowers for her mother every morning and placing them in a crystal vase in the sitting room. Erik found this simple act quite refreshing, quite…charming. _If only she'd speak with me…look at me._

She was wearing a simple light blue day dress with her blonde curls falling carelessly down her back. She wore a white ribbon in her hair. She always had a ribbon in her hair, illuminating her innocence entirely. Erik smiled at the thought. _She's so sweet, so innocent…_ Her attire, her entire self was a complete contrast to himself. She exuberated light while he was complete darkness. He always wore black dress pants along with a black jacket, his leather mask the only article of white clothing he wore, besides the occasional white dress shirt and vest, and even then his shirts were usually black.

He began to think intently on his contrasting qualities. He never understood what innocence was, had never known it himself. Not until Christine came into his life. Yet, he was the one who'd taken that sweet innocence away from her when he'd abducted her through her dressing room mirror and most powerfully seduced her in his lair. She was just the innocent age of seventeen. _Oh, Christine, I'm truly sorry…_

Erik sighed and put his thoughts of Christine back deep in his mind and continued observing Meg. Since his arrival Meg hadn't spoken one word to him. She barely even looked at him! First, he'd thought her scorn had everything to do with his face, his white leather mask. But, he'd almost immediately brushed that thought away, desperately trying to overcome his ill-fated insecurity. For, Christine had taught him that it wasn't his face but his fanatical soul that was the true horror. Though, he knew damn well that society rejected him for his deformed face. Yet, those he cared for never truly had. _Never…_

He shook his head. He'd become infinitely determined to make things right with those he cared for, first being Berenice and Meg. True, he hardly knew Meg, he'd never once communicated with her during their time at the Paris Opera House. He only knew certain things about her and that was either through Berenice or Christine. But, she was Berenice's innocent daughter and Berenice was his dearest friend. _My only friend…_ Thus, he was determined to befriend Meg, to convince her that he was on a path toward redemption. After all, Meg was Christine's dearest friend and so it'd only seem natural for her to scorn him because of the misery he brought to Christine. _My angel…_

His mind made up, Erik cautiously began walking toward Meg, desperately hoping that she'd finally speak with him…listen to him.

However, his hopes were dashed once she'd noticed he was there and hastily picked up her flower filled basket and began walking past him toward the cottage.

"Meg, please," Erik tenderly pleaded, gently taking her hand as she walked past him, stopping her, "please, stay, I have much I wish to say to you."

She stared at him for a long while. Her deep blue eyes filled with doubt, with confusion. He could feel her trepidation. He most fixedly returned her stare. His amber eyes a reflection of total desperation.

Finally, after what felt an eternity, she released her hand from his grasp and sat upon the wooden bench a few feet away. She set her basket down upon the grass and motioned for him to sit. _Perhaps Berenice spoke with her_, he thought skeptically, ever the pessimist.

He timidly sat down, placing himself at the opposite end of the small bench. Erik didn't even know where to begin. He'd never had a true conversation with a young woman before. Berenice was the only woman he'd ever held conversations with and even then it was under most spectacular circumstances. His mother had loathed him and therefore rarely spoke to him, and when she had she'd have nothing but horrible things to convey to him. In the end her loathing and fear had led her to desert him at the young age of ten, leaving him to…

Erik shivered then, never wanting to finish that thought. His dreadful past was one he never thought of any longer. He only thought of Christine. She was the only other person in this entire world who had listened, who had cared…_until everything went terribly wrong._ Yet, their companionship was completely fantastical, their conversations completely fanciful!

Yes, Meg would truly be the first unacquainted soul he'd ever converse with pertaining to complete truth. It terrified him.

"Well…," her soft voice held a slight irritation, interrupting his thoughts.

Erik cleared his throat._ I don't think I can do this…don't know how to do this…_

As if she could read his mind she began to speak once more. "How about you start with simply asking me how I'm doing today," she demurely suggested.

"Yes, of course," he eagerly agreed. "How are you this lovely morning, Meg?"

"Yes, it is a lovely morning," she repeated mockingly, folding her arms across her chest, "such sweet words from such a lascivious man."

"Meg, please—," he paused then, groaning. "Perhaps I deserved that."

"Perhaps so," she tartly agreed. "Tell me, Erik," she said his name as if she hated it. Turning toward him, her eyes burning through his, she observed him for a long while before continuing. "Did you truly love her?"

Her question took him by complete surprise. He was prepared for her to lash out at him. To berate him the way her mother had. Instead, she had asked him the simplest question, a question he most certainly had an answer for, a question that…haunted him.

"Yes," he answered most passionately, "with my entire soul. I love her more than I love my own life, Meg."

"Then why did you deceive her? Why, Erik," she aggressively demanded. She looked at him with such sad eyes, with such revulsion. He hated himself.

She continued then, her eyes softening, her voice trembling, "She loved you, too. She never told me herself, but I truly believe that she was in love with you. That perhaps she's still in love with you, Erik." He looked down at the grass then, praying that the tears threatening his amber eyes wouldn't begin to fall as he listened to her agonizing words. _Don't tell me she loves me, please don't tell me that. I cannot bear the possibility any longer._

"I've tried for months, most especially this past week," Meg continued, "to find justifiable reasons to hate you, but I cannot. Mama has told me much about you since the incident, Erik. It made me believe that you couldn't have possibly known better. All your life you've known nothing but hate, how could you possibly know how to convey love if you'd never known it?"

She paused then, turning her body toward him completely now. "You still terrify me and I still hate what you did to Christine. But…," she stood up, moving herself in front of him, lifting his chin to face her. Her touch felt wondrous. "I also believe that you're a good man, Erik. That deep inside you is a lost soul still wanting to break free, still wanting to be saved…to be healed." She looked down at her feet then. "You pleaded with Christine that…night on the stage that you wanted her to save you. It touched me, Erik," she whispered, looking into his eyes once more, "But, it's going to take me some time to understand you, Erik. I so want to help you. Now that you're living with us I truly want to help you, to forgive you. I just need time. Can you please do that for me?"

Erik stared at her most admiringly, powerless to deny her anything. He wanted nothing more than to have her forgiveness, her acceptance. He'd do anything for it. _Time is truly of the essence…_

"Yes, Meg," he compassionately responded, "I can do that. Take all the time you need. I'll be here." He took her hand then and lightly kissed it. "Thank you for speaking with me," he declared, tenderly looking into her soft eyes.

"You're most welcome." She smiled sweetly, then went and picked up her basket. She began to walk toward the garden again when she suddenly stopped and turned toward him once again. "Would you…," she hesitantly began, "would you like to join me, Erik? I'm sure Mama would love to know that you helped with picking the flowers today."

He stared at her, completely astonished. She giggled then, turned, and began to walk toward the garden once more. He chuckled then as he found himself following her, a smile upon his face.

*******

Berenice smiled to herself, a tear falling down her cheek, as she watched Erik and Meg amicably picking flowers together. She could see Erik smiling and it delighted her. She had seen them sitting on the bench together moments before and her curiosity had gotten the best of her. She'd found herself watching them from one of the sitting room windows, tears filling her eyes when she'd seen Meg stand before Erik and sweetly touch his chin, lifting his face to look into her precious blue eyes.

She'd hoped Erik and Meg would find companionship with another. Sometimes she felt Meg was as alone as Erik. It pained her. She tremulously smiled then, contentedly watching them. _Just don't fall in love with him my dear child, for his heart, his soul, will always belong to her…_


	8. His Music

_**Chapter Seven: His Music **_

_Paris, December 1882_

Christine sighed as she sat down upon the plush chaise lounge in front of the fireplace in her bedchambers, completely exhausted from preparations for _le_ _bal masqué_ the de Chagny family held every year on Christmas Eve. She was most excited for the _soirée_ and even more so for her first Christmas with Raoul as husband and wife.

The holiday season was her absolute favorite time of year, but it was also a time when she dreadfully missed her mother and father. _And, _she thought desolately, _it had been Christmastime when he had first come to her, claming to be her whimsical Angel of Music._ She shivered then, making a solemn promise to herself that she'd most blissfully enjoy this holiday season as best she could. In her heart she knew it possible, _Raoul would most certainly make sure of it_, she thought merrily.

She smiled then as she thought of her charming husband and the last six months together. Summertime had been most surreal for her. She had been terrified that perhaps her feelings for her angel had become too deep, thus threatening her and Raoul's marriage. Yet, soon after their first altercation over the masked man, Raoul had come home from _Le Musée du Louvre _one afternoon, made passionate love to her and promised that everything was going to be all right. Since then, it most certainly had. They hadn't mentioned her angel once and together the two had enjoyed a most blissful autumn and holiday season together. She was most happy.

_Yet,_ she thought reluctantly,_ he still haunts my dreams…my mind. _

She heard Raoul then, coming in from their dressing room. He was dressed in his lavish blue robe, the hem consisting of gold embroidery. _So beautiful…_, she thought lovingly.

He stirred the wood in the fireplace, then sat down beside her and kissed her most tenderly.

"_Bonsoir_, Christine-love," he said sweetly.

She giggled as he kissed her neck, "_Bonsoir_, husband."

"Did all go well today with Mother," he asked, continuing his sweet kisses along her graceful body.

"Wonderfully," she responded breathlessly. "Your mother has been most superb with the preparations. I am forever in her debt."

"Nonsense, love, she enjoys doing these kinds of things. And she adores you." He kissed her then as he began untying her white dressing gown, "I'm pleased that all is going well."

"As am I, husband, as am I."

She sighed then as he slipped her dressing gown off, letting it fall carelessly onto the floor. He laid her down upon the chaise lounge as he tenderly explored her body through her silky chemise.

"I received word from the Girys today. They've accepted our invitation," she hesitantly stated while succumbing to Raoul's most ardent caresses.

"Was there ever any doubt," he asked nonchalantly.

"Well, yes, actually. I was truly worried that they wouldn't attend. My outings with Meg have become very limited over the last few months and when we are together, well…she has been acting quite strange as of late," she admitted quietly.

Raoul tensed then, looking deeply into Christine's hazel eyes. "I'm sorry to hear that, sweeting. Do you think everything is all right?"

"I don't know, Raoul, I truly don't know. But, it's rather discomforting. She use to be most adamant about spending time together since it had become so scarce once they moved to the outskirts of Paris, but now…" She sighed, "Now, our time together has become even more limited and when we do see another she's very quiet, very evasive. It's as if she wants me to know nothing about her life any longer. It saddens me, Raoul," she whispered. "She's my dearest friend."

Raoul sighed, taking her hands and kissing them most devotedly. "Oh, Christine, I'm so sorry. I wish there was something I could do." He paused then. "Perhaps you should seek her out before _le bal masqué_ next week and tell her you're concerned, that her behavior toward you is most unsettling."

She tremulously smiled, "You're right, love. I'll write to her tomorrow."

Raoul returned her smile before he caressed her soft lips with his thumb. "Christine," he whispered, "I love you."

"I love you, Raoul, so very much." He passionately kissed her then, untying her lilac colored chemise.

Christine succumbed to her magnificent husband as he lay down upon her, his hand deftly caressing her thigh. For once she only thought of him. _Raoul…_

*******

Erik quietly paced the dark hallway, a lit candle in his right hand, vigorously debating whether or not to enter the music room Berenice had frequently spoken of the last six months.

Six months. Erik smiled. It had been six simplistically peaceful months since he'd begun living with the Girys. A most relaxing six months. Six months of healing, of hope, of…companionship.

It had been almost a year since he'd lost his music, his angel. And even though Christine still consumed his thoughts, he truly felt content. He still missed her with his entire being. There was no doubt of that. Yet, as much as he despised the thought of it, he'd come to accept, to understand, that his new life would be without her. He looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. _Oh, Christine…_

But, there was one dark beauty, one passion, which he absolutely couldn't be without, especially since it was still within reach, would always be within his grasp. _My music… _His ill-fated love for the beautiful ingénue may no longer be within his reach, but his music was his completely. And he could no longer live without it.

Erik took a deep breath, his decision finally made. _If I cannot have Christine_,_ I certainly won't drive myself to complete madness once again by continuing to deny myself my music._ For, if he did go mad again, he may never return.

Opening the door to the music room, Erik thought of his newfound ultimate desire: _redemption. I hope I finally find you through my music._

He entered the room, slowly seeking out the candelabra, lighting them most precariously. He was frightened, reluctant and…ecstatic! He'd denied himself for too long, since the night of his one and only performance of _Don Juan Triumphant_. Since the night he sang most passionately with _her_. Since the night he lost _her…_

He purged those painful thoughts away as his amber eyes laid upon the majestic grand piano. He took a deep breath, tears filling his eyes. For as he desperately stared at the piano, all he could see, all he could think of, was his angel. _Christine…_

Erik continued staring at the piano for quite some time. Finally, he found the courage and sat down upon the piano bench. Caressing the piano keys lightly with his musician's fingers, he paused. _My music…_

He began to play a piece he'd written a little over two years ago. A song he had completely memorized, a song that came from his heart, from his very soul, a song for his angel.

The song he'd used to seduce Christine when he'd abducted her through the mirror and brought her to his Hell.

As he fervently played his sensuous song of seduction his thoughts reflected upon that extraordinary night, a night that irrevocably changed his life. He'd never desired one to touch his face, his mask, his greatest insecurity… But with Christine he wanted nothing more than her trust…_her touch._ She was the first flesh and blood woman he'd ever passionately touched, the first he'd ever let touch him in return. He'd wanted nothing more than for her to…love him.

Her face had been so incredibly beautiful when she'd touched his mask. It had been the most erotically frightening moment of his life. Yet, he trusted her completely. She was completely enthralled, completely mesmerized by him, visibly impassioned by his touch, his words, his voice…his mask. He'd never felt so complete, so beloved in his entire seven and thirty years. He'd wanted nothing more than to make love to her that night…

Yet, ultimately, his fantastical dream ended when she'd fainted in his arms once he'd shown her that damn mannequin…and then the very next morning the desire ended completely…all because of him. _Fool, fool, fool…you'd almost had her! Why were you so completely mad, so obsessive? _

He shook his head, _things have changed, Christine_. He would never be as powerful, as abrasive, with her again. He'd never deceive her again! _If we do meet again, my angel, _he thought miserably.

Erik continued playing, haunting thoughts in his mind, when he felt eyes upon him. He abruptly stopped playing and turned toward the door. It was Meg.

She looked so sweet, so innocent in her white dressing gown… _My, God,_ he thought warily, _she's in her dressing gown!_ The only other woman he'd ever seen in her dressing gown was…Christine. He suddenly remembered that he himself was only dressed in his black robe with silver and green embroidery. He became incredibly nervous, though he knew he shouldn't be.

The last few months had been most serene with her. She was an innocent creature. And he'd found her innocence to be quite infectious. They'd become inseparable and it terrified him. She'd helped him recapture his innocent youth, innocence he'd never known himself throughout his entire life. She and Berenice both made him feel loved. He hadn't felt such love since Christine and even then that had very much been a grave illusion.

She looked so beautiful standing there in the doorway, a lit candle in her right hand. Her blonde curls were wild, falling down her back, and there was a slight glow to her face. She looked angelic, heavenly. _No,_ he thought furiously, _your heart, your very soul, belongs to Christine…_

"I'm sorry." They both spoke at once. Erik merely smiled while Meg timidly looked down at her feet.

"What were you playing," she quietly asked after some time, looking into his amber eyes.

He looked down at the piano then back at her. "It's nothing," he responded warily.

"Oh," she simply whispered. "Well, it's very beautiful, so enchanting…so captivating."

Erik looked at her sadly. "Thank you," he replied meekly. How could he possibly tell her that it was a song for Christine? The song he'd used most powerfully, most sensuously, to seduce her?

They were both silent, thoughtfully gazing at another.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," Erik declared, breaking the agonizing silence.

"You didn't, I was reading, that's all," she said sweetly.

_So innocent_, he thought admiringly. He cleared his throat then, motioning his hand toward the piano bench, "Please, sit, Meg."

She slowly walked over to him, never taking her sparkling blue eyes off him. She set her candle down upon the piano before sitting down beside him on the bench.

"Truly, Erik, your music, it…it is sublime." He noticed her looking at the music stand. "You play by memory," she observed appreciatively.

"Yes, well," he hesitated, "only some pieces do I know by memory. Those that are the most meaningful to me…," he reluctantly admitted.

"Like your score? _Don Juan Triumphant_," she carefully spoke, "you must have that one memorized completely." She giggled then, as if his score hadn't brought complete despair to him, to Christine.

"Yes, like my score," he replied somberly. "That piece of work became my life…" He suddenly became quiet. He couldn't continue. He wanted to confide in her, to tell her everything about his miserable life, his unrequited love for Christine…his music. But, he couldn't. He knew he wasn't ready. _Perhaps I'll never be ready._

They were silent once more, looking down at the piano keys. Erik tensed when he felt Meg unexpectedly place her hand on his upon the bench. "It's all right, Erik," she muttered. "If you don't wish to speak of it, I'll understand."

"It's not that," he whispered, tears in his eyes. "I do want to confide in you. It's just…," he sighed, "I don't know, Meg. I'm sorry I'm like this." He looked into her eyes then, "I wish I wasn't like this."

"Don't, Erik. Don't ever apologize to me," she pleaded. "I may not understand everything, but I'm here and I don't want you to ever apologize."

She took his other hand then and bent her lovely face to kiss them both. When she looked up at him once more he became frightened. She'd never looked at him like this before, as if she…desired him. He found himself looking down at her soft lips, his heart racing.

Yet, the moment ended as quickly as it came. As if sensing his distress, Meg looked away from him. She stood up then and began pacing the room.

"I'm glad you finally decided to make use of this room. Mama will be very pleased." She smiled, sitting down at the bay window, looking out at the stars.

It was a calm night. He sat at the piano bench still, admiring her, a comfortable silence between them. _Tell her…trust her…_

"It was for her, Meg," he hesitantly confided to her. "Everything I've ever done since I've known Christine has been for her, most especially my music."

Meg stared at him sorrowfully. _I don't want your pity, Meg. Anything but your pity, please._

"That's the first time you've spoken of her since you came to live with us." She paused then. He knew she was lost in thought, perhaps realizing that speaking of Christine with him was unbearable.

She continued, "That's beautiful, Erik, truly. I know you wrote _Don Juan Triumphant_ for her. And despite its very aggressive modernity, I thought it was seductively compelling, hauntingly beautiful. Your music, your passion, is most admirable."

He stood from the bench then, completely in awe of Meg. She fascinated him. Despite their blissful time together over the last few months, he still couldn't fathom why she seemingly admired him, why she'd want to spend all her time with him. _Because she wants your companionship, because you're her friend, _Erik finally admitted to himself.

He walked toward her then, tenderly touching her cheek. She leaned her face into his hand. He tensed, pulling away from her.

She simply smiled at him and took his hand. "Come, Erik. There's something I've wanted to show you…to return to you." She stood from the window and retrieved her candle, still holding his hand. They quietly blew out the candelabra in the room before Meg led him down the hallway.

Completely perplexed, he followed Meg, wondering what she could possibly have of his that needed to be returned. However, he immediately stopped her once he realized where she was taking him. _Her bedroom…_

"Meg, I—," Erik stammered.

"Shh, it's all right, Erik. Trust me," she whispered, opening the door to her bedroom.

Once they crossed that terrifying threshold, Meg let go of his hand as she went about her room, lighting candelabra.

He found himself observing her room as the darkness steadily became light. It was a quaint room. Her vanity sat next to her window, overlooking her and her mother's beautiful garden. There were a few shelves filled with many diverse genres of books. He smiled as he read several of the titles. She had books ranging from ballet to theater to opera. To fairy tales, gothic romances and…

Erik froze as he noticed one particular book, a book on the erotic arts, a subject that he physically wasn't acquainted with whatsoever. Yet, being a man of immense curiosity, being a man of artistic genius, he'd come across many books on the art of lovemaking throughout his lifetime and thoroughly studied all he came upon, especially once he believed he and Christine would ultimately become one. No, Erik certainly wasn't foreign to the techniques of lovemaking, not in mind, but in body…

He shivered then, silently berating himself for succumbing to Meg's innocence, for he knew her innocence would lead to his ultimate demise, when his eyes fell upon her bed. _I have got to get out of here…_

He opened his mouth to speak, to make an excuse of why he must go, when she turned to him then and motioned for him to sit down in an armchair that was located in a small alcove. An end table and oil lamp also occupied the small area. _So charming, so Meg…_, he thought sweetly. He suddenly felt relief.

He sat down in the lavish armchair as he keenly watched Meg open an old trunk that sat in front of her bed. She then pulled out a dark velvet blanket from it and walked over to him.

"Here," she whispered, standing before him. He hesitantly stared at her. "Take it. It's yours," she insisted.

He cautiously took the blanket from her, guiltily alarmed. _Damn it, man, just trust her!_

Erik began searching through the blanket as Meg stared at him. He curiously returned her stare, when he noticed she was crying.

"Meg—"

"Please," she interrupted, "just open it. Before you say another word, just open it."

He nodded as he continued searching through the blanket. He stilled. It was his white leather mask. One of the many he owned throughout his miserable life. The one he left behind when he most desperately disappeared from his Hell, from the Opera House entirely.

Erik looked up at Meg, completely stunned. "Meg, I, I don't know what to say," he said grievously.

"You don't have to say anything." She kneeled down before him, her hands on his knees. "I found it lying on your throne in your…home." Erik shuddered when she referred to that Hell as his home, though he knew it to be true.

She continued, "I took it with me before the mob discovered it. I thought Mama might have wanted. I thought that if you ever returned…" She paused then, tears falling down her precious cheeks. She looked at him, immense sadness in her blue eyes. "I thought if you'd return you would certainly want it back. But, Mama wanted nothing to do with it. She told me to keep it out of her sight. That she couldn't bear it! I think she may have believed you were dead then…" She began weeping, unable to finish her thought.

Erik set the mask and blanket down upon the end table and fell down to his knees beside her. He had absolutely no idea how to console her and it upset him. Whenever he'd console Christine it was through his voice, never like this, never in a physical sense.

"Hush, Meg," he murmured, "I'm here now. Everything is all right. I promise you."

"It's not just that, Erik. It's everything! What you did to Christine, to the Opera House!"

"Meg, I—"

"No, please, no. I'm sorry." She began wiping her tear-stained cheeks. "This is quite embarrassing."

He chuckled then as he gently brushed her hands aside and began wiping her tears with his thumbs, holding her sweet face in his hands. "It's all right, my dear. Please, don't be embarrassed." He kissed her forehead. "We don't have to speak of this now."

She began crying once more. It broke his heart. "No, I don't wish to speak of it now. I shouldn't have brought it up. I'm sorry, I—"

"Meg, don't apologize."

She smiled then, visibly comprehending that he was referring to her own words to him from only moments before in the music room.

"That's better." He stared into her sad eyes. "No more tears, please. I couldn't bear it. I've brought enough despair into another young woman's life. I couldn't bear it if I bring it into yours, too."

"Oh, Erik, these past few months with you have been complete bliss. I feel at peace when I'm with you. And, I want to thank you for that, for everything."

Erik tremulously smiled, completely floored. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. It humbled him. _Perhaps your path to redemption will come much sooner than anticipated_, he thought happily.

"Meg, it is I who should be thanking you," he ardently whispered. "You have brought light into my life, a life filled with nothing but darkness and heartache. I embraced the darkness once your mother saved me all those years ago, when I began to live in the depths of the Opera House. But now…now I want nothing more than to embrace the light. I want peace, Meg." He looked down at the floor before continuing, "And I want to thank you for returning my mask…for being with me these last few months."

"Oh, Erik," she cried, "you're very welcome!" She hugged him then. Erik tensed, terrified of returning her simple but overwhelming affection.

Yet, he slowly found himself succumbing to her sweetness, to her innocence, once more, and fervently returned her embrace.

They sat like that for a long moment. He smiled as he listened to her sniffling. _So precious…_, he thought compassionately.

She pulled away from him then, hesitantly looking into his concerned eyes. She lifted her left hand and cautiously placed it upon his masked cheek.

"Meg," he murmured frantically.

"Shh, trust me, Erik," she whispered.

Erik anxiously watched as Meg closed her eyes and brought her lips to his own, laying her other hand upon his left cheek. He stayed completely still as she chastely kissed him. Her simple kiss felt glorious. Yet, _she _still haunted him.

Erik pulled away. "Meg, this, I…" He felt foolish. He looked away from her. "I'm—"

"Don't," she tartly declared, placing a finger on his lips, "don't you dare say you're sorry."

He stared at her, anticipation in her soft eyes, eyes filled with desire, with compassion. He was lost. He lightly grasped her finger upon his lips as he kissed it. She then began to breathe deeply when he tantalizingly licked her finger, taking it in his mouth.

Suddenly, she pulled her finger away from him and kissed him most feverishly. Erik returned her impassioned kiss, completely under her innocently seductive spell. He lifted her from the floor and swiftly carried her to the bed, laying her down. He stood there, admiring her. Her dancer's body was exquisite, her hair most enticing lying upon her pillow, her face flushed. She looked like…_an angel. _

_My, God! Christine,_ he thought suddenly. _I am betraying her once more. Yet, she's no longer in my life…_ Erik became distraught.

"Erik," Meg murmured, grasping his hand. "Please…"

He brushed his haunting thoughts aside. _I love you, Christine, my angel. But, I am just a man, not a spirit, an angel…forgive me._

He groaned then as he laid himself down upon Meg, the contact paradisiacal. She began caressing his face as he stared intently into her fiery eyes. She moaned as he ardently kissed her. Caressing her body most zealously, she began touching him in return.

Completely enthralled by her simple caresses, he began untying her dressing gown, quickly followed by her chemise. Meg whimpered. He paused. "Are you all right? Did I hurt you," he hastily asked.

"No, not at all," she replied, smiling. "I'm just happy, this feels wonderful," she purred, grasping his buttocks.

Erik closed his eyes, thoroughly aroused. He continued untying her chemise, exposing her exquisite breasts. He breathed deeply, staring trancelike at them. _So beautiful…_, he thought tenderly.

He stared into her eyes then and she smiled. "It's all right," she whispered, taking his hand in hers and placing it upon her breast. "Touch me, Erik," she breathed.

He began caressing her with his deft hands. His exploratory caresses became bolder as he ultimately brought his mouth to her perfect breasts. Meg groaned as she placed her dainty hands in his hair, ardently touching him. For once, he felt as if he were doing something right. He began kissing her stomach when she softly touched his face. He looked up at her, completely in her thrall.

She stared at him for a long while, caressing his damp hair, his face. "Erik," she murmured. She brought her lips to his ear, "Make love to me, Erik."

He froze, suddenly succumbing to reality. He couldn't do it. _My, God! What am I doing? This cannot be right!_

He immediately jumped from Meg's intoxicating embrace and hastily backed away from her bed until he found himself against the wall.

Meg readjusted her chemise, covering her luscious breasts, visibly upset. "Erik, what is it," she warily asked.

"Meg, I, I'm sorry. I can't do this. It's…," he shook his head, "I'm so sorry." He ran from the room, down the dark hallway and into his own bedroom, quickly shutting and locking the door.

He leaned against the door, breathing heavily, as he collected his frenzied thoughts. He then fell to his knees. Burying his face in his hands, he began sobbing. "Christine," he cried, "I'm so sorry, my angel…"

*******

Meg lay in her bed, quietly sobbing. She truly believed that something beautiful was happening between her and Erik. The last few months had been so marvelous, so perfect! Now she felt like a fool for thinking he could possibly desire her…love her. She was completely humiliated. _How will I ever face him now_, she thought miserably. _What have I done? To myself, to Erik, to…Christine…_ She laid her face in her pillow then as she began hysterically crying.


	9. Prelude to a Masquerade

_**Chapter Eight: Prelude to a Masquerade **_

Meg stood before the window, lost in thought. It'd been a few days since her mortifying interlude with Erik, and since then she'd made it her mission to avoid him. She sighed, watching the snow falling in the dark night. She missed him. _Oh, Erik, I'm so sorry…_

"Meg," her mother's voice called, interrupting her thoughts. "There you are," she exclaimed, entering the sitting room. "I have been looking everywhere for you, my dear."

Meg turned to her mother. She was dressed in a maroon dress, her dark hair pulled back in a chignon. She never wore her hair any other way. A complete contrast to herself, considering she always wore her blonde curls loose, like now, and bright colored dresses, such as the light green dress she was wearing. Meg sighed. _Sweet, Mama…_

"I'm sorry, Mama," she replied. "I've been in here for quite some time now." She went and sat before the lit fireplace, Berenice's dark eyes burning through her.

"Meg," Berenice continued, sitting down next to her, "I have wanted to speak with you all day! Now, here it is, almost midnight! You cannot tell me that you haven't been…hiding all day. Perhaps hiding from a certain someone—"

"No, Mama," Meg calmly interrupted. "Please."

She looked down at her hands, gathering the courage not to cry. She hadn't told her mother what had occurred between her and Erik the other night and she certainly wasn't planning to. _Or what had not occurred_, she thought miserably, laying her forehead in her hand.

"All right, then we shan't speak of him," Berenice replied sharply. "But, we must speak of the de Chagny _bal masqué_."

Meg sighed, "Mama, I don't wish to go. You know this!"

"We've accepted, Meg," Berenice declared.

"Mama, how could you? You know very well I can't see her now…especially now," she whispered.

"Meg, darling, I know you're upset with this situation—"

"Upset," Meg yelled, standing abruptly from her chair, "I think 'upset' is quite an understatement, Mama!"

She walked away from the sitting area and returned to the window. "Mama, for the past six months we've been deceiving Christine! No," she continued, her voice dark, mocking, "I've been deceiving Christine! I'm the one that meets with her once a month, never once speaking of Erik! Of telling her that he's here, that he's alive! I hate it, Mama! I hate the lies! The deception! Erik deceived her for years and now," she threw her hands up in the air, "now we are just as bad as him! I hate it!"

She fell to the floor, curling herself up against the wall, weeping most hysterically.

"Oh, Meg," Berenice sighed as she sat down next to her, "I'm so sorry, darling. So sorry," she continued, taking Meg in her arms. "I know these last few months have been quite chaotic, but everything will be all right. We must go to _le bal masqué_—"

"Mama," Meg sobbed, "I do want to go, truly. But, how am I supposed to face her for an entire night? A night meant for celebration, for family, love! It's Christmas! I just can't do it! I won't!"

"You must, Meg! Christine is counting on you to be there! You already refused her invitation to meet with her privately before the _soirée_! For whatever reason," she whispered disapprovingly. "You must go for Christine! For your friendship!

"Oh, Mama, if you only knew. If you only knew…," she murmured.

"Meg." Berenice took her tear-stained face in her hands, forcing her to look at her. "It hurts me, too. What we're doing to Christine, what's happening to Erik! It kills me! But, we have to do this, we must do this! For Christine and Erik! He needs us and Christine needs you! You are all she has in her new life, a life in the aristocracy, a life with without music, without the stage!"

"She has Raoul," Meg cried. "You speak as if she's utterly alone! I've told you time and time again, Mama! She is happy! Completely and devotedly happy! She doesn't need me!"

"You are her dearest friend! How can you say that she doesn't need you! She loves you!"

"She loves Raoul! She loves Erik," she screamed, pulling from her mother's embrace.

"Meg, stop it! I don't want Erik to hear this," Berenice replied frantically, grabbing Meg by the arm, forcing her to look at her once again.

"Please, Mama, we both know it doesn't matter! Even if she hated him, he'll always love her! She'll always have his soul, his passion…his music." She stood then and began walking to the door, desperately wanting to run and hide in her room forever.

"Meg! You're scaring me! What is this really about? Tell me, Meg! For the past few days you've done nothing but sulk about the house, starling endlessly into space, thinking of God knows what! Now, tell me, what is? Has something—," Berenice paused.

_Please, don't ask, Mama. I know you've figured it out. Please, don't ask…_

"My, God," she spoke, realization in her voice, as she stood up and walked toward her. "You've fallen in love with him—"

"No," Meg sobbed, "that's not true! It's not!"

"Shh, Meg, darling, it's all right," she said soothingly, taking Meg in her arms, caressing her hair. Meg began sobbing hysterically once more, returning Berenice's embrace.

"Oh, Mama," she whispered, "what have I done? Not only would this hurt Christine if she ever found out, but I know its hurting Erik, now! I hate myself."

"Hush, Meg. Do not say such things. You cannot help how you feel. You and Erik have spent much time together over these last few months. It was bound to happen…," she admitted quietly.

"So what do I do, Mama? Help me."

"I can't help you, my dear. I wish I could. But, your heart is your own."

Meg pulled out of her embrace and walked toward the door once more. "I know, Mama," she said meekly, "I know. I just feel so alone…"

"Oh, Meg," Berenice responded, walking toward Meg.

"No, Mama, please," she replied, holding out her hands to stop her. "I'll go to _le bal masqué _tomorrow night. But, after that, I cannot do this anymore. I refuse to lie, to deceive Christine any longer." She looked intently into Berenice's eyes, "So you decide, Mama. Do we tell Christine the truth or not? Because if it's decided that we keep Christine in the dark then I refuse to see her. I won't continue doing this."

They were silent, both staring at another, despair in their eyes.

"Meg, this isn't our choice to make. It's Erik's. Only he can decide if he wishes for Christine to know of his existence, of the truth. Besides, his life is good now. He's at peace, on a path toward redemption. You know this! Think of what's best for Erik, for the both of them."

She walked to Meg then, placing her face between her hands. "Please, Meg, don't be selfish. Christine needs you and if needing to keep Erik a secret from her is what needs to be done in order to protect her, to protect him, then that's what we'll do."

She kissed Meg on the forehead before turning to leave the room.

"I know you'll make the right choice, Meg," she murmured, looking over her shoulder at her, "she needs you. Please, don't push Christine out of your life because of Erik, because of our deception. This deception is protecting her and Erik. Remember that. Don't do this. Don't give up on me…on Erik." She paused, looking over at the table. "The invitation is on the table," she said coyly, leaving the room.

Meg watched her mother leave the room, desperation in her eyes, in her heart. _Oh, Mama_, she thought sardonically_, only you would use subtle suggestions when you're actually telling me to do what you wish_. _I suppose I must go…_

She looked at the invitation on the table, sighed and left the room, tears in her blue eyes.

*******

Erik stood silently at the end of the dark hallway as he watched Berenice, and then Meg, abruptly leave the sitting room.

He'd heard everything.

He listened to their footsteps, waiting patiently for them to go upstairs. Once he heard both their bedroom doors shut, he walked into the sitting room, tears in his eyes. He shut the French doors quietly then walked toward the table.

He stared at the invitation. _Don't_, he thought, fighting with himself, _don't do it. You cannot see her again. It would hurt too much. And, what of Meg_, he thought miserably, _is it possible for her to love me_? _Does she love me, as Berenice believes? _

Erik sighed, guiltily pushing thoughts of Meg into the back of his mind, as he lifted the invitation from the table. As he began to read it, he recalled the last _bal masqué_ he'd attended… _Attended,_ he thought sardonically.

He shook his head. He'd been livid that night, revengeful. For six months he'd watched Christine and the Vicomte spend every waking moment together! And that was hardly the beginning! They'd both agreed to a secret engagement! They were to be married!

For six months he'd gone into hiding after he'd overheard the Vicomte proclaim his eternal love on the rooftop of the Paris Opera House to Christine, and her requiting it. He was hurt by her betrayal, angry! He'd despised her in that moment.

So he threw himself into finishing his score, hoping that once Christine heard and performed in his opera, which he'd written for her, that she'd fall in love with him unconditionally and become his forever.

Yet, not before he most heatedly crashed the chandelier onto the stage of the Opera House, cursing them all, and most especially, his Christine, his angel. _Fool…_

Once he'd vehemently finished his score he'd decided to present it to the managers and the Opera House at _le bal masqué_ that was being held in honor of the New Year. He thought it'd be brilliant, thought he'd claim Christine once again. That she'd come running into his arms as she did the Vicomte's six months before.

He'd dressed himself as the Red Death, a mysteriously villainous creature, from Edgar Allen Poe's _The Masque of the Red Death_. He secretly waited for _le bal masqué_ celebration to reach its culmination. He then furtively appeared at the top of the Opera House stairs, terrifying all who'd attended. He'd been most pleased. _You arrogant son of a bitch! What had you been thinking? _

Erik grievously shook his head as he sat down on the chair next to the fireplace, tears filling his eyes once more, his dark recollection deeply disturbing him.

He'd stealthily descended the stairs as he announced that he'd written an opera, an opera that was to be performed under his meticulous command. An opera that was to not be denied him, he'd made sure of that. He'd threatened the managers that if they didn't comply then they'd once again know his wrath through the crashing of their new chandelier.

Then, he'd found Christine. _Oh, Christine…_

She was so beautiful, dressed as a starred princess, her brown curls falling carelessly down her back, a luminous tiara on her head. Her dress consisted of different shades of pinks and blues, with dazzling silver stars imprinted on it. She truly was a princess, a celestial moon goddess. _An angel…_

Erik sighed, for in his madness he'd ruined it all. He'd gestured his hand out to her and she most willingly came to him, completely entranced. Despite the furious whispers from the others, calling out her name, begging her not to go to him, she'd been utterly enthralled by him. She hadn't seen him, heard him, in six months. He'd never forget that haunting look in her sparkling hazel eyes. She was his.

Yet, in his jealous rage, he threatened her, telling her that she belonged to him! He'd abrasively ripped her secret engagement ring from the chain around her elegant neck, causing her to frighteningly run into Raoul's open arms. The exact opposite of what he'd desired.

Finally, in his frustration, satisfied, and yet, defeated, he vanished down into the depths of Hell, the entire Opera House completely frazzled, completely terrified, by his…performance. He hated himself.

Erik abruptly stood up from the chair and walked over to the window, furiously rubbing his face with his hands. He then leaned his arms on either side of the window and stared out at the snowy, moonlit night, utterly lost in thought.

He looked at the invitation in his hand. _I must see her, need to see her._ Yet, in his darkest of thoughts, in his twisted soul, he knew he shouldn't.

_If she doesn't see you, then what harm could it possibly bring_, he then thought, suddenly hopeful.

He pushed away from the window. "Stop fighting it," he mumbled to himself. He walked back over to the table and set the invitation down upon it, but not until after he had it completely memorized.

Erik began walking toward the French doors, continuing his dangerous thoughts. Yes, he would attend the de Chagny _bal masqué_. He just needed to see her, needed to know that she was all right, that she was happy…without him. Erik groaned. _Oh, Christine, I hope this isn't a mistake, that this won't destroy me…or you._

He left the sitting room and walked toward the stairs. He'd find a costume and leave sometime after Meg and Berenice. He'd sneak into the de Chagny home and find Christine. Then, after he was convinced she was all right, after he saw her beautiful, angelic face, he'd leave and never return.

Tears fell down Erik's face as he ascended the stairs and entered his bedroom, thoughts of Christine in his mind, thoughts of never seeing her again plaguing his mind.

He lay down upon his bed, deliberately pushing thoughts of Meg aside, ignoring the possibility that his seeing Christine could possibly destroy Meg, too. _Damn you, man. After all this time, you're still the selfish man that lost Christine._

He began to sob uncontrollably. _Oh, Christine… _

*******

Raoul hastily entered his and Christine's bedchambers once he heard her weeping. _Please, Christine, I thought this was over._

He was terrified.

It was the night before _le bal masqué_ and he was quite excited for the _soirée_, for his first Christmas with Christine as his wife. He and his brother enjoyed an eventful day in Paris together, finishing business, while Christine and Mother finished last minute preparations for the _soirée_. He'd yearned for her all day.

He'd been most eager to return home to his wife and make passionate love to her. Yet, once he'd entered their dressing room and began to dress for bed, he heard her tears. He immediately went to her, forgetting to finish dressing. He only wore his black dress pants.

Raoul hadn't heard Christine cry for months. He knew it was because of _him_. For, that was the only reason for her tears throughout their entire marriage. _Damn you! Why are you still inside her mind?_

He found Christine sitting on the floor, her arms curled upon the ottoman, her face buried within them. Raoul felt a tremendous pain in his heart. Her hair fell down upon her smooth back. She was wearing a silky white dressing gown. _I love you so much, my wife._

Sitting down beside her, he gathered her into his arms and listened. He listened to her tears, her sorrow. Felt her trembling, felt her tears on his bare chest. It killed him.

"Christine-love," he carefully whispered, "what is it, sweeting?"

She continued crying as she attempted to brush her tears from her precious face and looked into his eyes. She was lost. He smiled sweetly, took her face in his hands and kissed her tears away.

"What is it, my love," he quietly asked between kisses. "I'm here. What is it?"

"Oh, Raoul," she sobbed, burying her face in his chest, "it's Meg. She refused to see me this week before _le bal masqué_, claiming she didn't have time." Her words were quick, meshing together, sobbing gasps between them.

"Oh, sweeting," he replied.

_Thank, God. It's not him. For once it's not about him_, he thought, wholly relieved.

"I don't believe her, Raoul. I don't think she wants to see me. For whatever reason, she will not see me! I'm surprised her and Madame Giry are even attending tomorrow night." She looked up into his eyes once more, wrapping her arms around his neck, "I hate this, Raoul! I hate that I'm slowly losing my dearest friend, my family."

"Hush, wife. You aren't losing the Girys. They would never desert you. They love you!"

"Then why does she refuse to see me? Why, Raoul? Please, tell me, because I certainly cannot figure it out for myself."

Raoul was desperate. He didn't know what to tell his beautiful wife. He hardly knew the Girys, couldn't possibly know why they'd been avoiding Christine since summertime.

He sighed then, praying that his explanation would be enough for her, praying that bringing _him_ into the conversation wouldn't hurt her even more, wouldn't hurt him.

"Christine, darling," he murmured, taking her face in his hands, "perhaps they're still…mourning him."

She tensed. They were both quiet. Raoul stared deeply into Christine's eyes, trying to read her thoughts. It was hopeless. Her face was a complete mask.

She pulled away from him and stood up.

"Christine—"

"It's all right, Raoul." She turned to him and took his hand, pulling him up to her, and embraced him. "I never thought of that," she whispered. "But, why Meg," she asked incredulously, leaning her face against his chest. "Madame Giry I understand completely. But, Meg, I cannot fathom why she'd act like this, why she'd…mourn him."

"Perhaps," Raoul began, looking into her eyes once more, "perhaps Meg was closer to him than you know. If he was as close to Madame Giry as we believe—"

"No! Impossible," Christine declared, pulling from Raoul's embrace. "Meg would have confided to me about him, especially if she was as close to him as Madame Giry. She would have told me, warned me!" She threw her arms up in the air and sat down upon their magnificent bed. She began sobbing again.

"Just as you had confided to her about your 'Angel of Music'," he carefully stated, thrusting his hands in his pockets.

Christine looked at him, anger in her eyes. "Raoul, how can you say that? I did tell Meg about my angel."

Raoul winced, but ignored her admission, wondering if she even realized what she'd admitted to. Instead he concentrated on her friendship with Meg.

"Yes, but after how many years of him coming to you? Singing to you, tutoring you? You told me yourself that you never once spoke of the 'Angel of Music' to Meg until the night of your debut performance."

Christine just stared at him. Raoul sighed and sat down beside her, "Perhaps, just as you kept the 'Angel of Music' a secret, Meg kept the Phantom a secret. Maybe," he continued, not letting Christine interrupt when she attempted to speak, "just maybe she didn't want to keep the true identity of the Phantom a secret from you, but had to because of her mother."

"Raoul, I hardly believe Meg knew the Phantom as well as Madame Giry. I refuse to believe it."

"Well, then, Christine, perhaps Madame Giry needs Meg now. And I know you need her, too, but Madame Giry may need her even more. They're all they have in this world, besides you. I believe that the Phantom was Giry's dearest friend. As twisted as that sounds," he murmured sardonically. "You cannot take this personal, Christine-love. I believe this is about them, about him…"

He was silent then, watching Christine most fervently. She returned his gaze, lifting her hand to stroke his golden blond hair. He could see she was completely lost in thought, completely distraught. _Please, Christine, no more tears…_

She kissed him chastely on the lips, stroking his face with her hand. "You're right, Raoul," she simply agreed. "Though, I don't believe Meg was as close with the Phantom as Madame Giry. But, I suppose, in some hauntingly twisted way of fate, that Madame Giry and the Phantom were dear friends, too. After what she confided to you after _le bal masqué_ last year, I can't help but believe they were dear friends. She needs Meg now."

She became silent.

"Yes," she soon continued, nodding her head, looking out the window, her eyes dazed, "that truly must be why. Her mother needs her more than I do. How could I have been so foolish, so selfish?"

"Oh, Christine, no, love, no," Raoul soothed as she began crying again. He knew it hurt her. She laid her head on his shoulder, taking his hand in hers. He wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and began caressing her hair with his hand.

"Shh, love. It'll be all right. You'll see. Tomorrow evening, you'll see the Girys and suddenly everything will be just fine. Trust me," he whispered.

She looked up at him, "I do trust you, Raoul. I just hope that you're right." She smiled tremulously then. "I love you."

He returned her smile then kissed her forehead. "I love you, too, sweet wife."

They embraced then, lying down upon the bed, their feet still on the floor. Raoul fell into a dreamlike trance. He wished they could stay like this forever.

"I miss them," Christine whispered.

Falling out of his trance, Raoul looked at Christine intently as she sat up and looked down at him, "I miss my parents, Raoul."

Tears filled both their eyes at her sad confession. He took her into his arms and began caressing her arms, her back. "I know, love, I know," he murmured, caressing her luscious curls, realizing that this was more about her parents than the Girys, than the Phantom. That she'd needed a scapegoat to hide the dark truth.

He held her then, silently praying that tomorrow evening all would go well and he'd see the Christine he fell in love with all those years ago, the Christine he'd fallen in love with upon the rooftop on the Paris Opera House. The Christine he would always love.


	10. Masquerade

_**Chapter Nine: Masquerade **_

_Christmas Eve, 1882_

Meg sighed, laying her face in her hand as she stared aimlessly out at the dark night. Since morning she'd furtively went about her thoughts, trying to come up with the perfect words of apology for when she saw Christine in regard to avoiding her these last few months.

Now, as she sat in the carriage across from her mother, on the way to the de Chagny _bal masqué_, she'd come to realize that the guilt was too much. She'd wanted no more lies. She'd only wanted truth.

"Mama," she murmured, "whatever shall I say to Christine once I see her? I cannot lie to her and we both know she's going to ask if I'm all right. I truly don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, _ma petite_. Just keep it simple—"

"I don't wish to lie!"

"I know, Meg, dearest, I know. You've made that perfectly clear these last few days. You won't need to lie."

"But what if my simplistic answer is not enough for her? You know how much Christine cares for us. I'm sure telling her that I've just been 'busy' won't be enough. She'll want to know why. Want to know what's going on. Besides, telling her I have been 'busy' would be a complete lie."

Berenice sighed, turning away from Meg. She was dressed entirely in black, her majestic black mask lying on the seat next to her. As always, her dark hair was pulled back into a chignon.

She looked like death and Meg knew it wasn't only because of her attire. She hated it. The thought of the hell they'd gone through these past few days brought tears to her eyes.

"Oh, Meg," Berenice consoled, clearly noticing her tears, as she pushed herself from the opposite side of the carriage and sat beside her, taking her hands in hers. "I know this night is going to be quite overwhelming. But everything is going to be all right. When you see Christine just act your sweet self. Whenever the two of you are together the best comes out of you both. I hardly believe that Christine will want to concentrate on the bad instead of the good on such a glorious night." She paused, her eyes becoming serious. "Yet, if she pushes you for information that you don't wish to give, then don't. It does not mean you'll need to lie. Tell her the truth. Just leave Erik out of it."

"So tell her I'm absolutely miserable but give her no reason? I think not, Mama. You're not making any sense! You say tonight will be overwhelming yet you want to keep it simple. Well, simple is certainly not going to work. You know this!"

Meg threw her hands up in the air then crossed over to her mother's former seat. It was hopeless. She was tired of this conversation, a conversation they'd had several times since receiving their invitation to _le bal masqué_. It was killing her. She was completely against the idea of withholding the truth from Christine. She's been against coming at all but her mother had accepted and here they were, absolutely miserable.

She was terrified that this night would go horribly wrong. _That you'll do something foolish, Erik_.

Thinking of the tragic possibilities, she finally voiced her concern to her mother. "Don't you think it was a mistake to leave Erik alone tonight, Mama," she asked quietly, breaking the silence between them. "I'm afraid he'll—"

"No, Meg, don't say it. Don't even think it," Berenice interrupted, holding her hand up to quiet her. "We must trust Erik to stay home. We must trust him," she repeated, though Meg heard little conviction in her voice.

Meg leaned against the seat, folding her arms across her chest. She felt utterly defeated. Not only was she dreading this night but she'd been dismayed by the last few days. She and Erik had hardly spoken since their intimate interlude from nights before and she'd constantly argued with her mother once she'd discovered their endeavor. And that had only been last night! She was truly miserable. The last thing she'd wanted to do was attend a social event held by one of the most elite families in the aristocracy.

But what she was even more hesitant of was facing her dearest friend and withholding the truth from her, a dark truth that would change Christine's charming life if she were ever to find out.

She only hoped that Erik would do as he'd promised and stay home tonight. He never mentioned attending _le bal masqué_ but Meg and her mother were both skeptical. So together they approached Erik on the matter earlier today, making him promise to not imprudently decide to make an appearance. He was, after all, the legendary Phantom of the Opera. Who knew what he was truly capable of?

Meg knew. She knew that Erik would do anything and everything when it came to Christine, his angel. That he would indeed make an appearance tonight. _I hope I'm wrong…_

Meg shivered, wrapping her arms around her body for comfort. Her thoughts frightened her. _Please, Erik_, she thought desperately, _do not do anything foolish._

She shook her head then as she felt the carriage come to a stop.

"Well, here we are. Are you going to be all right, darling," she heard her mother ask, deep concern in her voice.

Meg remained silent.

"You look beautiful tonight," she continued, purposefully changing the subject, Meg knew.

Meg glanced down at her lap, reflecting her reasoning for dressing as she did. She was dressed as a goddess of the spring in a pale green dress with ruffled sleeves. The dress was embroidered with lovely flowers of pastel coloring and a slight train fell behind her when she stood. She wore flowers in her hair, her golden curls falling carelessly down her back. She wore white gloves and her mask matched splendidly.

"Thank you, Mama," she finally replied. "I wanted to embody light tonight, the spring," she confided, trying to sound cheerful. "For tonight, I'd hoped to forget about the darkness…"

Berenice smiled sweetly, cupping Meg's cheek. "You always embody light, _ma petite_. You are the spring." She paused. "I love you my darling daughter. Remember, we're in this together. You are not alone."

"Oh, Mama," Meg sighed as she threw herself into her comforting arms. "Promise me everything will be all right and I'll believe you. I cannot fight this anymore."

"Hush, my child, everything is going to be all right," Berenice whispered, returning Meg's embrace, caressing her back. "I promise you. After tonight, we'll return home to find Erik safely inside and tomorrow morning we'll celebrate a most joyous Christmas. You must trust. Trust Erik, trust Christine. No matter what you shall tell her, she'll believe you. She loves you."

Meg sniffled and pulled away from Berenice's embrace, dreading her traitorous behavior to her dearest friend.

The door to the carriage opened, the coachman holding out his hand to help them out of the carriage. Meg took a deep breath and grasped his hand as she stepped out of the carriage.

*******

"She's the loveliest creature in the room, brother. There's no doubt of that. She absolutely glows."

Raoul smiled satisfyingly as Philippe laid his hand on his shoulder. "Yes, brother, she certainly is. I am the happiest of men."

Philippe returned his smile, both admiring Christine from across the ballroom while she spoke with guests they were unable to see. "Then is it safe to presume that all is well?"

"Oh, yes. Everything is wonderful. Though, she was upset last night over this situation with the Girys. And her parents have haunted her lately. She confided that she misses them most during the holidays," Raoul admitted sadly.

"I'm sorry to hear this, Raoul. I'm sure she'll be all right." He paused, stepping closer to Raoul and whispered in his ear, "But, she hasn't spoken of him, cried over him—"

Raoul shook his head before Philippe could finish.

"You see, little brother, only time would tell and it did! I'm happy for you," Philippe laughed. They hugged each other with brotherly affection.

Pulling away, Philippe began to admire the guests while Raoul returned his attention to his exquisite wife.

He'd been unable to take his eyes off her all evening. She looked heavenly, dressed as a celestial moon goddess. A vision in ethereal white, her long flowing dress accentuated her perfect form. The white laced bodice, trimmed with gold, illuminated her luscious breasts, her laced sleeves shaped enticingly over her slender shoulders. The back of her dress was bound by a large white bow, its ribbon falling to the floor within the folds of the train of her gown. She wore her hair down, her gorgeous brown curls reflecting her grace, her elegance, sparkling gold crescent moons throughout. Her gold and white mask glittered in the candlelight, her hazel eyes entrancing. _Those eyes that burn right through me_, he thought blissfully.

Christine looked over at him then and smiled sweetly. Raoul breathed deeply, returning her smile. She continued staring at him, her eyes mesmerizing. How he'd longed for her to look at him that way. It had certainly been worth the wait. She smiled wickedly then, just enough for him alone to notice. She mouthed "I love you" then began to giggle. Raoul held his hand to his heart before she sheepishly returned her attention to Meg Giry.

_Meg Giry! _

Raoul shook his head vigorously and stared once more at the young ballerina.

"My God," he breathed, "they came."

Philippe returned his attention to Raoul and followed his gaze.

"Are you speaking of the Girys? I must admit that I was quite surprised when I first saw them earlier this evening. What exactly is going on with the Girys and Christine, little brother?"

"A most disheartening situation, Philippe," Raoul timidly replied, watching Christine and Meg intently. "It seems that the Girys have been avoiding my charming wife."

"Yes, that much you have confided to me before. But, do we know the reason?"

Raoul sighed, "No, no we don't, and it's hurting Christine. Since summertime the Girys have seemed to make it their mission to avoid seeing her. It's most bizarre. And yet whenever Meg does agree to meet with her it's brief and impersonal. It kills me to see Christine upset over this."

"Well, what do you think it is? Anything to do with him—"

"Please, brother," Raoul fervently whispered, facing Philippe, "let's not speak of him anymore than we have to on this celebratory evening. But, yes, I do believe it has everything to do with him. Whatever that may be though, I wish not to dwell upon. As long as he isn't in Christine's life, I have no desire to wonder where he is. Let alone who he may be residing with."

They were both silent then, smiling here and there as guests passed them. Raoul knew his presumptions had been sobering, startling even. Since Christine sorrowfully confessed to him of her troubles with the Girys he'd come to wonder if perhaps the infamous Phantom of the Opera was indeed living with the Girys. He'd confided to Christine that he believed their odd behavior was due to their mourning of the opera ghost, but his inner voice told him otherwise.

"Perhaps he's staying with the Girys," Philippe observed. Sometimes Raoul wondered if Philippe could read his mind. "After all," he continued, "Madame Giry was his only companion during his lifetime in the Paris Opera House."

Raoul rubbed his chin and mouth with his hand, deep in concentration. "My thoughts exactly, Philippe," he agreed dejectedly. "Thoughts I wish not to think of."

"Understandable, little brother," Philippe murmured, grasping Raoul's shoulders. "_Joyeux Noël_, Raoul. I shall leave you to your thoughts…and to your lovely wife," Philippe added as Christine began walking their way. He waved to her and blew her a kiss. She smiled and caught the air blown kiss in her palm. Both Philippe and Raoul chuckled at Christine's innocent flirtation toward Philippe.

"I love you, Raoul," Philippe stated before kissing Raoul on both cheeks.

He began to walk away but abruptly turned back to Raoul. "And if he is residing with the Girys, Raoul, we'll find a solution," he whispered assuredly. "I won't allow that man to intrude on yours and Christine's lives again, on your happiness. I won't let him destroy you."

Raoul let out a long sigh as Philippe turned and disappeared into the crowd. _For once, Philippe, I hope we're both wrong. He couldn't possibly be with them, could he? _

"Monsieur le Vicomte."

Raoul smiled as he heard Christine's angelic voice whisper in his ear, her hand daringly lay on his stomach. She stood directly behind him.

"Madame la Vicomtesse," Raoul replied, wholly smitten, his discouraging thoughts vanishing.

He turned to face her and chastely kissed her on the lips, taking her in his arms. They leaned their foreheads against another, completely lost in their own world, neither caring for propriety.

*******

"Meg! Madame Giry," Christine excitedly exclaimed once she'd finally found them. She'd been looking for them the entire evening and began to wonder if they'd even show. She'd been thoroughly relieved to find that they had indeed decided to make an appearance. Her heart fluttered.

"Madame la Vicomtesse," Madame Giry replied respectfully when the three came together.

"Oh, Madame Giry," Christine giggled, "please, I wish for neither of you to address me by my title, whether we're in public or not. You're my family."

They both smiled sweetly. _Perhaps everything shall be all right_, Christine thought pleasantly.

She turned to Meg, her legs shaking beneath her white dress, shamefully terrified of her friend's potential rejection. "Meg, _mon amie_, I have missed you so! I was upset to receive your letter the other day claiming you were unable to meet with me before this evening. I do hope everything is all right."

Meg gazed at her mother before replying. She seemed reluctant to speak with her. _Oh, Meg, whatever have I done for you to…hate me?_ Christine shivered at the thought.

"Perhaps I shall leave the two of you alone, yes," Madame Giry inquired. "I must use the necessity anyhow. The journey was quite long and most tiring. Christine, dear, it was lovely to see you. You look beautiful, my child."

Madame Giry kissed Christine on both cheeks before embracing her. "Please," she whispered pleadingly in her ear, "understand. Everything is all right. Trust me." She pulled away then and cupped Christine's now puzzled face before leaving her and Meg.

Christine watched Madame Giry make her way through the crowd, curiously wondering what she'd meant.

"Christine," she heard Meg's questioning voice, "Christine, is everything all right," she asked, placing her hand on her arm.

"Oh," Christine responded, shaking her head, "I'm sorry, Meg. Yes, I'm all right." She placed her hand upon Meg's. "I have just missed you both. Do you think your mother shall join us once more?"

Meg shook her head, "Probably not. Mama hasn't been very sociable as of late."

Christine gazed attentively at Meg, wondering if perhaps Raoul was right. Perhaps the Girys were mourning the Phantom.

She began to respond to Meg's disheartening news when she felt Raoul's eyes upon her. She gazed over at her wondrous husband from across the ballroom. He was staring most amorously at her, Philippe by his side. He looked dashing in his traditional Hussar uniform. His dark blond hair slicked back, his green eyes sparkling. She smiled happily at him. He returned her smile most fervently causing Christine to then smile most wickedly for a brief moment. She'd desired him all evening and hoped her secret smile gave him a clue to what she was most looking forward to later in the evening. She mouthed "I love you" to him and giggled. Raoul placed his hand over his heart and Christine forgot to breathe. _God, I love this man. I truly do_.

"It's lovely to see the two of you this way."

Christine returned her attention to Meg, cursing herself for forgetting her presence. "I'm sorry," she shamefacedly asked.

"You and Raoul, you seem happy."

"Blissfully happy," Christine replied giddily. "Yes, Meg, I am most happy. I love him."

"Oh, Christine, it's wonderful to hear that."

"Thank you, Meg."

They were silent for some time, both observing the guests. _Le bal masqué_ was a complete success. She watched as couples danced, while others conversed most merrily, laughter and smiles on everyone's faces. Christine smiled to herself.

"Christine," Meg murmured, unknowingly interrupting her thoughts, placing her hand upon her shoulder. "I must go. There's Mama," she pointed toward the entrance of the ballroom. Madame Giry was staring at them both.

"Go? Must you? It seems you just arrived." Christine was utterly disappointed.

"We have been here for quite some time," Meg corrected her kindly. Though Christine knew she was lying, she'd been looking for them all evening.

"You must stay, Meg. We have so much to discuss." Christine embraced her dearest friend, "I miss you so much. Please, don't leave me."

"Christine," Meg began. Yet as if deciding against what she'd wanted to say, she pulled away and looked sadly into her eyes, "Christine, we must go. Mama cannot stay long. As I mentioned before, she hasn't been sociable as of late and I don't wish to keep her here against her will. Please," Meg continued before Christine could speak, "don't take this personally. It's just that…things have changed, Christine. I promise you that I will tell you everything in due time."

Christine stared hopelessly into Meg's deep blue eyes, thoroughly confused. "Meg," she whispered, taking Meg's hands in her own, "just tell me everything is all right and I shall believe you. You're my friend, _ma soeur_! Please, trust me. I just wish I understood why you have been avoiding me as of late. Is something wrong? Have I done something to upset you?"

Meg's eyes began to fill with tears, "Oh, Christine, I'm just so sorry. Everything is all right, in a sense. But, you must believe me. It isn't only Mama who hasn't been very sociable as of late, but me as well," she reluctantly confided, "I have missed you so, Christine. And I'm truly sorry for deserting you over these past few months. I cannot explain now, but please, trust me."

Christine smiled despite the sadness she knew reflected in her eyes. Meg's confession frightened her. But she trusted her completely. If she wasn't ready to spend time with her, to confide in her, then she'd have to accept it, as much as it hurt.

"It's all right, Meg. I believe you. Promise me that you will tell me though. Please, Meg. I'm deeply concerned. Are you both in good health? At least tell me this."

"Yes, yes," Meg exclaimed, "we are both in fine health! I promise you this!" Meg looked over at her mother who waited patiently by the ballroom French doors. "But I cannot tell you now. Just know that we are all right."

"I believe you," Christine reluctantly spoke. "If you must go, then go."

"Thank you, Christine. _Joyeux Noël_!"

They embraced another.

"I promise to write you soon, Christine. I promise—," she paused, looking away for a moment. "I promise to tell you everything once the time is right."

They smiled at another before Meg skittered toward her mother. "_Joyeux Noël_, Meg," Christine whispered sadly.

She stood alone for a moment, watching mother and daughter embrace before exiting the ballroom. It looked as if Meg were crying.

She sighed and looked over at Raoul. She immediately smiled. _Well, there is nothing I can do now. I do trust Meg. I do_, she thought hesitantly. She truly didn't wish to give up on the Girys. That was the last thing she wanted to do. _Just trust._

Pushing her thoughts aside, she began walking toward her husband. Raoul and Philippe turned to her then. Philippe blew her a kiss and she warmly caught it. She noticed Raoul and Philippe chuckle. It warmed her heart. _It's Christmas, _she thought joyfully, _for tonight, forget all your troubles and enjoy this time with your husband_.

Her decision made, she came up behind Raoul once he'd said farewell to his brother and placed her hand seductively upon his stomach. "Monsieur le Vicomte," she whispered in Raoul's ear.

"Madame la Vicomtesse," he replied smoothly.

He turned to her and kissed her adoringly, pulling her into his arms. They stood there for a long while, leaning their foreheads against another. _I love you so much, husband. Don't leave me_.

*******

"_Joyeux Noël_, Christine-love," Raoul murmured.

"_Joyeux Noël_, husband," Christine sweetly responded, "I love you, Raoul."

"I love you, Christine. You look beautiful this evening. You always look beautiful."

Christine smiled as she leaned back to look into Raoul's eyes. She giggled. "I believe that's the hundredth time you have murmured those engaging words to me this evening."

"Well, it is very true. But I must admit that I have somewhat of an ulterior motive," he whispered invitingly.

All evening he'd wanted to whisk Christine away and make passionate love to her. He'd found himself unable to wait until they retired to their bedchambers once all the guests had departed.

Christine smiled at him. "What did you have in mind exactly, my love?"

Raoul chuckled as he held Christine closely. She felt so good in his arms. He needed her.

"Well, we can't escape for too long."

"Of course not," Christine agreed, "we don't wish for our impeccable guests to notice."

"But I need you now, Christine-love," Raoul murmured, covertly slipping his hand between them and grasping her breast.

Christine quietly moaned, leaning into his touch, "Yes, Raoul."

"Perhaps the library," he asked as he continued his seductive caress, "I'll lay you down on the plush carpet by the fireplace. You are most enticing when your smooth alabaster skin is flushed, love. It shall be our secret sanctuary for the evening, no doubt."

"That sounds—"

"Monsieur le Vicomte! Madame la Vicomtesse! _Joyeux Noël_!"

Raoul and Christine froze upon hearing the regally familiar voice. They coyly pulled away from another and greeted the majestic woman.

"Mother," Raoul greeted her amiably, kissing her on both cheeks. "_Joyeux Noël_!"

"_Joyeux Noël_, Raoul. Christine," she merrily exclaimed, taking his delectable wife in her arms, "you look marvelous! _Joyeux Noël_, _ma chère_!"

"_Joyeux Noël_," Christine returned as she happily received the Dowager's kisses. "You look superb!"

"Thank you, child," she replied sweetly before pulling Raoul into her embrace. "Would you mind terribly if I ran off with your charming husband for a moment? I believe he still owes me a dance on this pulchritudinous evening."

_Oh, shit_. Only when she used such absurd words did Raoul know he was in for it.

Christine giggled, "Of course not. He's all yours."

Raoul held out his arm for the Dowager and gazed at Christine one last time. _Damn you, Mother_. He wasn't happy whatsoever for the intrusion. He was burning for Christine.

Christine sweetly waved at him before blowing him a kiss. Raoul smiled disappointedly as his mother swiftly led him away.

Once dancing gracefully in his mother's arms she leaned into him, "I know you and Christine are deliriously happy and cannot keep your hands off another," she whispered inquisitively, "but son, must you be so obvious in the presence of our elite? It is entirely improper for the two of you to be seen together like that, even if this is France! I love you both but I shall not have either of you disgraced, let alone myself!"

Raoul rolled his eyes. Propriety be damned! Yet he knew his mother was right. _Unfortunately_, he thought sardonically.

Understanding that this would be a losing battle if he crossed her, Raoul sighed and responded pleasantly.

"Yes, Mother."

*******

"Hush, César," Erik whispered, tying his faithful friend to a tree. He patted the horse neatly on the neck once finished and turned toward the de Chagny estate.

_Magnificent_, he thought enviously. It was glorious in the moonlight, snow falling lightly upon the vast estate.

Erik drew in a long breath and carefully began walking toward the majestic _château_. _No use delaying any longer_, he thought as he maneuvered his way through the small cluster of trees.

He was dressed completely in black, blending in with the dark night brilliantly, wearing a cloak that covered his masked face. Despite attending a _bal masqué_ he wasn't quite enthusiastic of the chance of being discovered before even making it inside, hence the cloak. He knew what he was doing was foolish and a complete risk to his life but he had to see her. _His angel…_

Approaching the de Chagny home he stayed near the shadows, careful to not be discovered. It was then that he heard ardent whispers between two very familiar voices.

It was Berenice and Meg. They seemed to be arguing. Erik stealthily made his way toward the waiting line of carriages. Hiding behind one, he listened intently to their discussion.

"You promised her that you'd tell her everything when the time was right? Meg, whatever were you thinking? She can never know the truth!" Berenice was furious.

"Mama," Meg pleaded, as they waited for their carriage to approach the entrance of the _château_, "You told me to not lie to her! You should have seen her face! She was incredibly concerned. I couldn't leave her completely in the dark, I wouldn't!"

They were silent for some time.

"Fine," Berenice finally spoke, malice in her voice. "Was she satisfied with what you told her?"

"I do not know, Mama. It happened very quickly."

"So tell me then, daughter, when the time will be right for you to tell Christine that we're hiding a criminal in our home, a man who was obsessively in love with her for years, who is still in love with her!"

Erik flinched at Berenice's statement.

"Mama," Meg gasped. "How could you?"

Berenice shook her head. "I'm sorry, Meg." She sighed, "Whatever shall we tell Erik?"

"It's over, Mama. Once the holidays are over, once the New Year passes, I plan to tell Christine everything, and if she chooses to keep this revelation to herself then that's wonderful. But, Erik was an extremely important figure in her life—"

"Meg—"

"No, Mama, let me finish. I've been thinking of this since we arrived this evening. She deserves to know. She and Raoul looked so happy tonight, perhaps she can have both men in her life now that she seems…healed. I've already betrayed her through my feelings for Erik, through our hiding him in our home. I won't continue to do so."

Berenice embraced Meg as their carriage approached. "Yes, darling, perhaps you're right. But, let's keep this from Erik until after Christmas morning." She paused. "Promise me, Meg," she whispered fervently, "that you'll discuss this with Erik before you confide anything to Christine."

Meg stared deeply into Berenice's eyes. "Yes, Mama, I promise."

Berenice tremulously smiled. Their coachman appeared, escorting them into their carriage.

Erik thought he was going to be sick. He couldn't decide if he was more upset over the idea that Meg would betray him to Christine or if it was because Raoul and Christine were happy. _Damn it! _

He shook his head. _No matter, I must see her_.

He began sneaking about the estate, desperately looking for an entrance that wouldn't reveal his unwanted appearance. _Perhaps the servants quarters…_

After some time Erik found success. He entered carefully through the servants' entrance. He felt quite confident that he wouldn't be discovered, especially considering he found the majority of the servants enjoying themselves in each others arms. Erik silently chuckled to himself.

He hid in a dark alcove in a hallway and slipped his cloak off. He smiled sardonically as he thought of his costume. He'd found it in a trunk in the Girys' attic. It belonged to Berenice's husband, Sébastien.

_Adonis_, he thought amusedly. He was dressed as the handsome mythological Greek youth, Adonis, a man who was fought over by the most beautiful of Greek goddesses.

He wore a long sage colored toga, which fell to the floor, a faux brown colored animal fur cloaked about his shoulders. His face completely covered by his sage colored mask, his dark hair slicked back. His amber eyes glowed with anticipation of seeing his angel.

Erik cautiously walked through the labyrinth of candlelit hallways until he finally came to the ballroom. He made his way in secretly when the footmen were distracted. He certainly didn't need to be announced.

He reluctantly smiled to himself as he descended the grand staircase, observing the joyful guests. It was magical.

Months ago he would have been disgusted with these joyous faces. But now Erik found himself smugly embracing the glowing happiness in the ballroom.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, it was then when he saw _her_.

_Christine, my Angel of Music, my beloved, my beautiful angel._

Tears filled Erik's eyes as he gazed at Christine. She was divine, dressed in white, a serene moon goddess with her luscious brown curls flowing down her back, a white and gold mask upon her delicate face.

How he longed to touch her, to kneel at her feet and embrace her, to cry in her arms, to make love to her.

He stood motionless in the midst of the ballroom as he watched her. He couldn't breathe.

She was alone, gazing happily about the dancing couples.

Erik began walking toward her.


	11. Passionate Whisperings

_**Chapter Ten: Passionate Whisperings **_

Christine laughed as she watched Raoul dancing with his mother. She was clearly scolding him. He looked over at her. He seemed quite miserable. She smiled and waved sweetly at him before turning her attention elsewhere.

She knew Raoul was deeply upset over his mother's imposition. He'd been thoroughly aroused during their embrace only moments before. His erotic caress on her breast had almost been her own undoing. She herself was eagerly looking forward to their secret rendezvous in the library. She sighed. They would just have to wait now.

Reluctantly deciding to distract herself from thoughts of making love to her perfect husband, Christine began idly strolling about the ballroom, greeting guests as she passed, sometimes stopping to engage in conversation.

Once alone, she smiled to herself. She hadn't felt this happy, this alive, in months. She began carelessly twirling a strand of her brown curls when a dark figure caught her eye. She froze.

_It's him!_

Christine began to tremble as she saw her Angel of Music, the former Phantom of the Opera, walking toward her, obvious purpose in his step.

She blinked several times while shaking her head. It couldn't possibly be him. She had to be dreaming! She continued intently staring at him. She drew in a long breath.

_Angel! My Angel of Music, it's you!_

Tears filled her eyes.

He was still quite a distance away, his face covered more than usual by a sage colored mask. Yet Christine knew without a doubt it was him. First she knew his voice. Then she knew the man. She'd never forget him.

She panicked. He certainly wouldn't approach her now. Christine knew he was mad but she never truly believed he'd repeat his foolish behavior, especially after he'd let her and Raoul go the night of _Don Juan Triumphant_.

_The night I betrayed him so I could save his life._

He was advancing and Christine found herself unable to move. He looked so beautiful. Dressed in a sage colored toga, brown fur amidst his broad shoulders, she realized he was dressed as the mythical Greek figure Adonis. A most handsome youth, Adonis was fought over by the most beautiful of Greek goddesses. _Oh, angel. _

Christine shook her head. Almost a year since she'd seen him last and he still captivated her. She couldn't take her eyes off him. He returned her stare most passionately. Never once taking his eyes off her while he continued his journey toward her.

A swarm of dancers suddenly came between them. Christine quickly stepped back. Her angel was no longer in sight.

_This cannot be happening. It's an illusion. A fatal illusion! _

Once the dancers departed, she saw him once more. He had stopped. They were still far apart, hardly in reach of another.

Their eyes met once more. Christine couldn't breathe. _Angel…_

They continued to stare fervently in another's eyes. His beautiful amber eyes glowed in the candlelight. He was trembling. She could see the pain in his masked face, the unshed tears in his eyes. How she wanted to reach out and touch him, embrace him. Love him.

_He's alive!_

It was as if time stopped. An eternity passed as they stood in silence, completely enthralled with another. She hoped no one noticed their unyielding awareness, their unsteady breathing…their passionate longing.

She especially hoped Raoul was still distracted by his mother.

_Raoul! My God!_

Christine suddenly looked away, falling out of her reverie. Her angel began walking toward her once more and she held out her hands to stop him, vigorously shaking her head.

He abruptly stopped, clearly shaken. She could see the sadness in his eyes, the confusion. Yet there was no reflection of anger. _Total despair…_

For a moment, Christine questioned her decision to stop him. _Perhaps he has changed…_

She shook her head, pushing the hopeless thought aside. "I'm sorry," she whispered, turning to flee, just as she had almost one year ago, tears streaming down her masked face.

"Christine…"

She heard him whisper her name. A whisper she knew only she could hear. She shivered at the sound of his voice. It still bewitched her.

Christine paused, questioning herself once more. Could she walk away from him again?

_No, not this again! I cannot! I couldn't bear it! I must protect myself, must protect him. I must protect Raoul and—_

She fled, pushing her thoughts aside, anxiously looking about the ballroom for Raoul. She needed him. She needed him inside her. She needed to feel the warmth of her husband, to know his love.

She had to forget _him_.

*******

Erik began walking faster once he'd noticed that Christine had seen him. _Please, don't leave me. Don't go. Trust me._

She stood there watching him. She'd never looked more beautiful. He had to have her.

Suddenly, a horde of dancers came between them, forcing Erik to stop. Christine was nowhere to be seen. He stood there, anxiously waiting.

_Please be there once they've gone, angel. Don't leave me._

She was. The crowd gone, Erik found himself unable to move.

Their eyes met once again and he was lost.

Erik knew his passion, his love, for her reflected in his eyes. Yet, what haunted Erik, what made him believe, what gave him the hope that Christine could still belong to him, was her returning gaze. Her eyes were on fire. He could see complete desire in them. Complete passion.

He'd seen that passion in her eyes twice before. He'd first known it beneath the Paris Opera House, in his Hell, when he'd seduced her with his music. It had been a quiet passion, a passion she was uncertain of, but it'd been there. He had seen it, had felt it.

Then, the night of _Don Juan Triumphant_, the night of his ultimate humiliation, when they'd performed together. She'd been impassioned by his song, his voice…his touch. He'd been the one determined to seduce her. Yet he'd been the one thoroughly seduced. His weakness for her had caused him to act foolish and he'd lost her because of it in the end.

Yet he was still hers completely.

Erik began to walk toward her once more until Christine held up her hands and hastily shook her head.

Stopping, Erik's eyes began to fill with tears. He couldn't believe this was happening and yet he could. He should have known. He was going to lose her again.

He could see tears streaming down her precious masked face as she stood there for a moment longer. He desperately wondered what she was thinking. _Perhaps she still needs me, still longs for me…_

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

His dream ended as quickly as it begun.

She ran.

"Christine…," he tenderly whispered.

She suddenly stopped. Erik couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

_Come back to me. I need you more than you could ever know, angel. Love me._

He could see the tension in her lithe body as she stood there, her breathing steady.

_Please, Christine. _

She was gone. Without as much as a glance his angel was gone.

Erik stood there watching her run from him. He was trembling with fear, with disgrace.

_What had I been thinking? Fool! Damn you!_

He'd been unable to bear it when he'd lost her once before. He didn't think he could possibly go through it again.

He was mortified.

_She isn't yours to lose! Never was yours to lose!_

Erik shook his head.

He watched as Christine ran into the arms of the Vicomte. She kissed him. A passionate kiss that ended abruptly as Christine whisked the Vicomte away. It killed him, for he knew what was to occur between the young lovers momentarily.

Tears steaming down his masked face, Erik hastily turned toward the entrance of the ballroom. He was completely lost.

_Now what happens? _

He suddenly let out a loud roar of doomed frustration and ran up the majestic stairs, ignoring the curious stares. He continued running through the candlelit hallways, vigorously looking for the alcove where he'd hidden his cloak.

Once found, he tied his cloak around himself and fled the _château_. He ran into the forested area where he'd left César, quickly untying the horse from a robust tree. His heart bleeding, he jumped upon his loyal horse and fled, leaving behind his angel, his love, his everything, forever.

*******

"Christine-love," Raoul exclaimed, concern in his voice, as Christine ran into his arms and kissed him. She abruptly pulled away from him and grasped his hand in hers. "Whatever is the matter?"

Ignoring him, Christine began desperately maneuvering her way through the ballroom and the throng of guests occupying it. She needed Raoul now. She didn't care what his mother would think of this potentially scandalizing behavior, didn't care what the ­_on-dit_ among the guests would be come tomorrow morning, let alone, the rest of the evening. She needed her husband now.

Once reaching one of the many candlelit hallways, Christine shoved Raoul against the wall and began caressing his body, kissing his face.

"Christine—," Raoul began to protest, until she slid her hand between their bodies and grasped his member. He let out a soft groan.

Christine broke off the kiss and leaned her forehead against Raoul's, continuing her soft caress. Raoul wrapped his arms around Christine's waist, gently grasping her bottom and pressing her against his now engorged flesh.

"I need you now, husband," Christine whispered. "I couldn't wait any longer."

Raoul slid his hands up her back, laying them upon her shoulders. "Let's go, love," he whispered in return, his breathing becoming heavier as Christine continued her delicate caress.

Christine pulled away from their embrace as Raoul placed his hand upon the small of her back, discreetly leading them to the library.

Once inside, Raoul locked the doors. He took his mask off and laid it upon an end table while Christine did the same.

Raoul took Christine in his arms. "You're trembling," he observed.

Christine bit her lip self-consciously. She couldn't possibly confide to Raoul what had just occurred. It would kill him.

Ignoring his observation, Christine took him by the hand and led him to the fireplace. The warmth of the fire felt comforting upon her smooth skin. She embraced Raoul.

For a long while they stood their, idly caressing their inflamed bodies, neither speaking.

"We must hurry, love," Raoul murmured, breaking the silence.

"I know," Christine whispered. "I love you, Raoul."

Raoul looked longingly into her eyes, "I love you, Christine."

Christine suddenly pulled Raoul down onto the lush carpet, the need for urgency, the need to forget her angel, filling her muddled mind once more.

Raoul lay down upon her. "You are most invigorating, my sweet, such fire, such passion tonight. I love it." Raoul smiled as he slid his hands up Christine's trembling thighs, slipping them beneath her dress, caressing her most secret area. "So ready for me," he murmured satisfyingly.

She most certainly was. _Oh, Raoul…_

Christine sighed, enjoying his caress. "I am always ready for you, husband. Take me, Raoul. Now," she demanded.

"Hush, Christine-love." He slid two fingers inside her, Christine moaned.

Continuing his sweet assault on her body, Christine grasped his shoulders and began ardently kissing him.

Unable to bear their prolonged passion any longer, she began fumbling with Raoul's breeches. "Raoul," she pleaded, "Please."

Raoul chuckled, "Patience, my beauty." He removed his fingers from the folds of her enticing threshold and boldly brought them to his mouth, licking them.

Christine's eyes widened. "You are wicked," she murmured, unlacing his breeches.

Raoul smiled naughtily, placing his hands on Christine's breasts. She arched her back, thrusting them further into his wanting hands, his most delicious hands.

Christine moaned as he continued his bold caresses. He then reached one hand beneath her, holding her closer, has he begun untying the laces to her corset.

Simultaneously successful with their ties, Raoul roughly pulled Christine's corset down, exposing her breasts, while Christine slipped her hands inside Raoul's breeches and grasped his manhood. He began loving her breasts with his mouth. Christine began moaning uncontrollably, her caresses upon Raoul becoming more desperate.

"Raoul," she gasped.

Raoul slid his hand once more beneath Christine's dress, slipping his fingers inside her, stimulating her to the brink of oblivion.

Christine pushed Raoul's breeches down to his knees. Raoul removed his fingers from inside her, slick with her sweet dew, then grasped his cock with his hand and brought it to her heated threshold.

He looked into her eyes, taking her face in his other hand. "I love you, Christine."

Christine tremulously smiled, wiping his drenched hair from his forehead. "I know," she whispered.

He entered her, both crying out upon the powerful contact. Christine wrapped her legs around Raoul's waist, forcing him deeper inside her.

They lay there for a moment, bodies entwined as one, anticipating the ecstasy they knew was upon them.

"Don't leave me, Raoul. Promise me," Christine demurely whispered, "Love me for always."

"Oh, yes, Christine-love," Raoul responded, his breaths becoming quicker, "Never. I'm yours."

Christine wrapped her arms around Raoul's shoulders, never wanting to let go. She sighed.

He began slowly moving inside her. Her desperate urgency from before disappeared, replaced by her wanting to savor her husband's touch, her passionate longing for him becoming her sanctuary.

Raoul slid his hands beneath Christine while she wrapped her legs tighter around him, both desperate to bring their sweat drenched bodies closer. Christine wondered if it were possible for him to be deeper inside her. Yet not just as lovers but as soul mates. All she'd ever wanted was for him to be deep inside her, not just his flesh which deemed him a man, but he himself.

She'd always believed that Raoul was her love while her angel had been her soul. But now—

"Raoul," she murmured, unfulfilled pleasure-pain in her voice. She grasped his shoulders roughly, her fingers digging into his skin.

He began thrusting vigorously, their demanding whispers of release becoming more fervent. They were completely consumed by their impassioned love.

Raoul suddenly lifted Christine off the carpet, and sat her upon his muscled thighs, both crying out at their seductively agonizing touch. He grasped her buttocks and back, pressing her breasts against his chest, forcing himself deeper insider her. Christine began kissing his chest and licking his nipples as she slid her hands around his waist, her legs still wrapped about his body.

Both on the verge of release, Raoul lightly placed his hands on Christine's flushed face and kissed her tenderly. He then embraced her, caressing her back as Christine placed her face in the crook of his neck, biting his shoulder. Raoul groaned, spilling his seed inside her.

They were silent, their heavy breathing the only assurance that their fervent lovemaking hadn't killed them.

_My God_, Christine thought. It had worked. She'd made love to Raoul without once thinking of her angel. It was truly over. He was gone, no longer inside her mind.

She suddenly began to cry. Yes, she hadn't truly thought of him in months, but the idea that she had seen him and yet was able to leave him once more terrified her, no matter how difficult it had been.

It was done. She needed Raoul. She needed to protect him, to protect their love. To protect their—

Christine lifted her head and looked at Raoul. He was watching her intently.

"Christine-love, you're crying. What is it," he asked, taking her face in his hands. She still sat on his lap, their bodies still one.

She smiled as he wiped the tears from her face. She laid her own hands upon Raoul's face. _So beautiful, my darling, I love you more than you could ever know._

"Christine?"

"Raoul," she whispered, deftly taking his hand in hers. "_Joyeux Noël_, dear husband."

She placed his hand upon her chest, slowly moving it upon her breast, she sighed as he gently grabbed it. She then placed it upon her stomach.

"We're going to have a child."

*******

Erik furiously changed his clothes and tended to César in the Girys' tiny stable. He didn't wish for the Girys to know of his whereabouts so he'd carefully hidden a change of clothes within the stable. He quickly hid the Adonis costume and mask. Now wearing simple black breeches and a white shirt, Erik finally placed his white leather mask upon his deformed face.

He let out a long sigh.

He had rode hell for fire throughout the night from Paris, his eyes burning from unshed tears. It was almost dawn now. He was exhausted.

He stood in the stable a while longer, unwanted thoughts in his head. His heart was broken. She had denied him once again.

_Oh, Christine…_

Erik hastily shook his head at the thought of his angel and abruptly fled the stable. He didn't want to think of her any longer.

He quietly entered the Girys' home and ran upstairs, finding himself in front of Meg's room. He closed his eyes and leaned against the door.

_Make love to me, Erik. _

Erik shivered as he heard Meg's voice in his head. Words she'd spoken only a few nights ago. Could he?

_Yes._

Erik suddenly threw open her bedroom door. He heard her gasp.

She was standing by her window. She must have been unable to sleep. Dressed in a simple white chemise, the moon illuminating her golden curls, Erik felt she'd never looked lovelier. Her blue eyes studied him, concern within them.

_Simple…_ With Meg everything seemed so simple. With Christine nothing had ever been simple. It had only been deception, madness. _It had been an obsession you fool._

"Erik?"

Meg's sweet voice interrupted his thoughts. He shut the door.

"Is everything all right? I've been worried for you. Mama and I thought that perhaps—"

"Meg," he whispered as he walked toward her.

She was silent as he took her face in his hands. They stared intently into another's eyes for a long while.

Meg lifted her hands and tentatively placed them on Erik's chest. He breathed deeply at her gentle touch.

"You're trembling."

"Shh, Meg, my sweet," he murmured.

Erik began caressing her face and hair. He then kissed her forehead, her cheeks. He kissed her chin, her eyes.

"Erik," she breathed.

"Meg," he whispered as he bent his head once more and brushed her lips with his own.

She returned his chaste kiss with a passionate one, wrapping her arms around his waist. Erik returned her embrace, pulling her closer to him.

Their kisses becoming more desperate, Meg swiftly licked his lips with her tongue before pulling away. "Open your mouth for me, Erik."

Succumbing to her subtle demand, he opened himself to Meg as she kissed him once more, thrusting her soft tongue into his mouth. Erik moaned.

Meg began pushing him toward the bed, never breaking their intoxicating kisses. He soon found his legs against the bed and immediately sat down upon it, Meg sitting on his lap, her legs straddling him.

She lifted her chemise above her head while Erik lifted his shirt above his own. They began vigorously caressing their nude bodies, enjoying the sudden touch of their bared souls.

"Meg," Erik groaned as their exploratory caresses became more fervent.

He was terrified. Yet he knew, he believed, he hoped, this was the only way to forget his angel.

_Christine…_

Suddenly, completely overcome with Christine and his agonizing thoughts over her rejection, Erik desperately began untying his breeches. He slid back further on the bed, wrapping his arm around Meg's waist and taking her with him.

Meg began pulling his breeches down past his waist, kissing his chest and stomach while doing so.

Erik sighed and pulled Meg down upon him and began kissing her once more, his erection pressing against her flat stomach.

He then let out a loud groan as she grasped his manhood and began stroking him.

"My God," he sighed.

"I want you, Erik. Do you want me, too?"

"Oh, God, yes," he groaned.

"You must trust me."

He looked up into her eyes as she continued stroking him. He took her face in his hands. "Meg, I have never done—"

"Shh, Erik, I know. I know," she whispered. "I have. Trust me," she sighed.

Erik knew Meg was doing her best to soothe him but he was completely embarrassed. He was a grown man and she just a young woman. He hated that she had known men while he'd never known a woman. Yet she was incredibly beautiful while he was a monster. It made complete sense to him.

Tears began to slide down his flushed cheeks, his mask hiding only half his sorrow, at the thought of his miserable life, a life without requited love, without complete passion.

Meg stopped her ministrations and took his face in her hands. "No tears, Erik. It's all right. Let me love you. Just let me love you."

She then took his hands in hers and brought them about her waist. "Now, Erik," she whispered. "I want you, now."

He lifted her slightly off his aroused body as she grabbed his member and brought it to her damp threshold. She mounted him.

"Oh, Erik," Meg gasped.

Erik groaned. The sensation was wonderful. He began thrusting inside her, his hands still wrapped firmly about her waist. She laid her hands on his shoulders, crying out as her hips met his pleading thrusts. Erik then lifted his body somewhat off the bed and took one of her breasts in his mouth. He wanted more, needed more.

Meg leaned toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Mmm," she moaned.

"Meg," Erik cried as he released her breast and began kissing her chest, "something's coming. I—"

"Erik, it's all right. Trust it. Let it happen."

Erik wrapped his arms around Meg's back as he fell back upon the bed. He clung to her. He'd never felt like this before. It overwhelmed him. It frightened him.

It was euphoric.

"Erik!" Meg gasped as he began aggressively thrusting inside her, her erotic spell overtaking his mind, his body.

"Oh, Meg," he groaned. His deepest insecurities began to fade away as he found an ultimate release. "God, Meg, I need more of you. All of you." Erik grasped her bottom in his deft hands, pressing her harder against him. "It's happening," he moaned.

"I know, Erik," she sighed, "Oh, I know." She tightened her arms around his neck.

Erik felt he heard pain in her voice yet knew it wasn't so. For once he knew he was desired. He thrived upon this realization zealously kissing Meg once more.

She soon pulled away from his kiss and laid her head in the crook of his neck, muffling her cry of release as Erik spilled his seed inside her.

_My God…_

They lay there in total silence. Erik began caressing Meg's back while she caressed his chest. He then tightened his grip around her back as he listened to her breathing. It weakened him. Their heavy breaths seemed almost comforting to Erik. He'd allowed himself to succumb to her. She'd offered him a moment of bliss and he'd taken it.

Meg lifted herself from Erik's body and caressed his face. She smiled. "_Joyeux Noël_, Erik."

Erik laid her down upon the bed and kissed her forehead while caressing her hair. They both sighed as he pulled his sated flesh from her precious threshold. Their bodies no longer entwined, Erik laid down beside her, taking her hands in his.

"_Joyeux Noël_, Meg."

Meg nestled beside him. Erik closed his eyes.

He'd failed completely. Once again he'd deceived an innocent young woman. Once again he'd deceived himself. His body was sated yet his soul wasn't. He loved Christine yet he wanted Meg. He hated himself.

He opened his eyes once more to find Meg asleep. He smiled tremulously as he carefully grasped one of her golden curls and kissed it.

_I'm so sorry, Meg. Forgive me._

Erik closed his eyes once more and fell into a dark sleep, once again letting the darkness embrace him.


	12. Miserable Wanting

_**Chapter Eleven: Miserable Wanting**_

_Paris, February 1883_

Bursting through the majestic French doors, Raoul brushed past the concerned faces of the servants as he hastily made his way through the grand foyer of the de Chagny home.

"Monsieur le Vicomte—"

"Where is my wife," he demanded.

"In your bedchambers, monsieur," the butler quickly replied.

Raoul began running up the stairs, taking two at a time, complete concern and distress displayed about his sweat drenched body. He may have taken a carriage from _le Musée du Louvre_ yet throughout the entire ride of agonizing hopelessness Raoul was unable to remain calm, completely sweating through his clothes. He was desperate.

After what seemed a lifetime, he found himself upon his and Christine's bedchambers and swung open the door.

She was lying in bed. She hesitantly looked at him, her eyes dazed at first glance. He hardly recognized her. She was pale and exhausted, complete despair now evident in her beautiful hazel eyes. She looked like death.

"I lost the baby," she whispered. Tears filled her eyes then and she began to cry uncontrollably.

Raoul walked over to her in two quick strides and sat down beside her, taking her in his trembling arms. "Oh, Christine-love, my darling wife," he cried.

Christine returned his embrace, grasping him tightly. Raoul could hardly breathe. Yet he didn't know if it was because of her frantic embrace or his breaking heart.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed, "Oh, Raoul. I am—"

"Hush, sweeting. Don't say such things. Just let me hold you."

They cried together for quite some time, neither breaking from their desperate embrace.

Raoul finally found the courage to pull away from her. He wiped her tears from her rosy cheeks and took her hands in his. Christine leaned her forehead against his. He knew she was afraid to look at him, afraid of his possible rejection, of his possible anger. _Oh, Christine._

Raoul lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"Don't be afraid, Christine. I'd like to give you another, my love. I promise to give you another," he fervently declared, grasping her tearstained face in his hands. "I love you, Christine. I love you so much."

"Raoul," she murmured. There was such helplessness in her sweet voice. "I love you so. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Oh, Christine, there is nothing to forgive."

She began sobbing again and threw herself into his arms. "Raoul, I don't deserve you. After everything I have done to you in our year of marriage how can you possibly still want me, still love me?"

Raoul sighed. He knew it would come to this. He knew that their losing the baby would become so much more. They'd been married for barely a year now and though it hadn't been complete bliss he still had no regrets. He loved Christine with his entire being and would never leave her. Now it would seem her darkest insecurities were coming alive once more and it frightened him. He knew she was terrified that he would leave her one day.

_Never, Christine-love, I promise you this. _

He still most certainly hoped that _he_ wouldn't become a strong figure in her life once again, brought on by her despair. Her Angel of Music had been his darkest insecurity. But Christine hadn't spoken of him since last summer. And once she'd told him after an impassioned moment of lovemaking in their library during _le bal masqué_ that she was with child, their love had blossomed into so much more. He'd never been happier. He truly felt the Phantom was no more, that sorrow would no longer plague their marriage. Their lives together had finally started. It had been a joyous Christmas.

But now, it would seem the darkness would embrace Christine once more. Raoul only hoped that the Phantom wouldn't haunt them once again because of it.

Raoul shook his head fervently and tightened his arms around Christine. He couldn't let that happen again, wouldn't let it happen again! _You must continue to trust her._

He began caressing Christine's back, kissing her lovely curls upon her head, doing what he possibly could to comfort her. She was shaking tremendously.

He found himself crying once more. Christine's pain was unbearable. He hated seeing her like this. For once there was nothing he could do. For once he couldn't protect her. It destroyed him.

Raoul tightened his arms about her. "I love you because you are wonderful, my love, and because of your sweet innocence, your passion for life. You're wondrous because of your intelligence, your grace. And, of course, I love you because you're beautiful." Raoul chuckled as he felt her smile against his chest. She looked up into his eyes.

"Raoul—"

"But, I'm not done, love," he replied sweetly. "I love your face. I love your cheeks, especially when they're flushed moments after making love," he whispered, kissing both her cheeks. "I love your sweet button nose. I love when you crinkle it after I've said something most distasteful or when you become bashful because of something flattering I have said to you. You're so very modest, my sweet." She smiled and crinkled her nose, causing Raoul to laugh as he kissed it. "I love your lush, sweet lips, swollen with my kisses. Your very desirous lips, Christine-love," he finally murmured as he brushed his lips with hers. Christine hesitated then succumbed to his chaste kiss, laying her hands upon his face.

After some time, he reluctantly broke their kiss, looking deeply into her eyes. "I love your hazel eyes. I love how they glow with passion when you speak of your intoxicating desires. I love the fire that burns within them when I look at you, when I touch you, when I love you." Christine closed her eyes as he lovingly kissed each eyelid.

"I could go on, sweeting." Christine smiled. Raoul took her face between his hands. "I love you, Christine-love, for always." He kissed her forehead. "I will give you another," he whispered in her ear.

"Oh, Raoul, I love you."

Raoul wrapped his arms around Christine's lithe body, carefully laying her down upon the bed.

"Everything will be all right, love. I promise you. Shall we just lay here? I don't wish to leave you."

"Hold me, Raoul, and don't let me go. Stay, please."

"Hush, darling. Of course I'll stay. Sleep now."

Christine closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. Raoul never taking his eyes off her caressed her precious face and hair, her smooth arms. He, too, let out a long breath. It had been a long day.

Once he noticed her steady breathing and realized she had fallen asleep, he laid his hands upon her flat stomach and wept.

*******

Later that evening, Christine awoke to find Raoul sound asleep, his hands upon her stomach. She laid her hands upon his, tears filling her eyes once more.

_My sweet child,_ she thought miserably. _I shall miss you. I love you._

She then laid a hand in Raoul's soft hair, caressing it, as somber thoughts filled her head.

For the last two months she'd felt nothing but happiness. She and Raoul were going to have a child! Seeing Raoul's face in the library during _le bal masqué_ after she told him had given her such fulfillment. She was so in love with him in that moment and him with her. It was perfection. She was happy despite having seen her angel only moments before.

_My angel…_

Christine sighed. She hadn't forgotten him. True, she hadn't thought of him constantly any longer and when she had only sweet memories of him were inside her mind. Yet she truly missed him. But he was her past. Raoul and her child were her future.

_Now, only Raoul is my future. _

Tears began to fall upon her grief stricken face at the surreal thought. She quietly removed herself from Raoul's embrace and slipped on her dressing gown over her chemise. She walked to the fireplace, a small fire still burning within, and sat down upon the chaise lounge in front of it.

She thought of _him_ once more.

He was so beautiful that night. She'd wanted nothing more than to love him. But in her heart of hearts she knew it to be impossible. It had broken her heart to see his face when she'd denied him. But she had to protect Raoul and their child. She'd wondered only a few times if that had been the only reason why she'd denied him again. It tormented her at the thought that she may have succumbed to him once more if it hadn't been for the child.

_Why am I thinking of him? Is it because I lost the baby? Why must I think of him when my mind is a tangle of despair? Is it because I need him?_

"Because you love him," a masculine voice softly spoke.

Christine shivered and turned to find Raoul intently watching her from their bed. "What," she asked breathlessly, terrified she had been discovered.

"Because you loved it," he spoke once more, getting up from the bed and walking over to her. Christine shook her head and sighed. She had heard him incorrectly. Relief swept through her.

Raoul sat down beside her, taking her in his arms. "I can feel your thoughts, Christine. You already unconditionally loved this child. It's why you're so incredibly upset, my love." He paused, looking down at his lap. "Me too, darling, I already loved this child with my entire soul, even without having known it."

Christine began to cry. She took his hands in her own. "Oh, Raoul, I know. I know, husband. I don't think I'll ever heal, ever be able to get over this. I lost our child. We'll never know if it was a boy or girl. We'll never know—"

"Christine-love," he quietly interrupted, "we cannot dwell upon what we cannot change. I know you won't forget this, neither shall I. But we both will heal in time. I promise you."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I love you, because I will always love the child we will never know. Yet knowing that this child won't ever leave our hearts, that's enough for me, with that knowledge, I shall heal and so will you. It will always be a part of us."

Christine trembled. He was right. The knowledge that their lost child would always be with them would save her, would help her to make another, to love another.

She smiled. "I love you, Raoul. Take me to bed, husband."

Raoul smiled and lifted her in his arms. "My love," he whispered as he kissed her full on the lips and walked them to their escape, to their fantastical haven.

Christine sighed as he laid her down. Raoul then lay down beside her.

She knew it had begun. Raoul may have believed she was only thinking of their lost child but she was also thinking of _him._ Once more he was inside her mind and this time she knew she would be lost to him forever.

For in her dark despair she'd once more fall into the comforting arms of her husband but her soul would succumb to him. She needed him.

_Angel of Music, my mind, my body, my soul. Come to me once again. I need you. _

*******

Erik jolted awake, his naked body covered in sweat. Breathing heavily, he laid his hands upon his masked face.

_Angel of Music, my mind, my body, my soul. Come to me once again. I need you. _

Her voice haunted his dreams.

Erik sighed restlessly. He looked over at the sleeping beauty beside him.

_Meg. _

He smiled and caressed her nude shoulder, thankful he didn't wake her. He then silently got out of her bed and walked toward the window. It was a cool night but the moon shone brightly. It was beautiful.

Erik shivered. For the past two months he'd dedicated his body to Meg. Yet his mind and soul still belonged to Christine. He dreamt of her always but tonight's dream seemed all too real.

_Oh, Christine, my angel, I need you, too._

Erik looked over his shoulder as he heard Meg sigh. She was still asleep, blissfully unaware of his tormenting thoughts.

He hated what he was doing to her yet he felt she secretly knew. He couldn't help it. How can one help how they feel? He shook his head, his attention returning to the Girys' winter haven.

_You can't_.

He'd always love Christine, always desire her. Yet he was nothing but a man and despite the belief that he was a monster he had the same needs as any other man: the joys of the flesh.

Meg had been good to him, good for him. She surrendered herself to him so innocently, so compellingly. He'd wanted her, falling under her sweet spell. And for whatever reason, a reason he'd never begin to fathom, she'd wanted him in return.

It had been an astounding two months yet Erik was beginning to yield to his maddening guilt. He wasn't in love with her. But he knew she was in love with him. He had to end it. He just didn't know how. His entire life he'd been rejected by society, by the woman he loved! Knowing how that anguish felt how could he possibly do the same to sweet Meg?

_You can't. You're a coward. It's as simple as that. Being a coward lost you Christine and now it will hurt Meg. _

He'd used her the night he'd seen Christine at the de Chagny _bal masqué_. He'd wanted nothing more than to make love to her in the hopes that his love for Christine would dissolve. He'd foolishly believed that Meg's body would help him to forget.

He'd been completely wrong.

_Fool._

Now, two months later, he found himself loving her body almost every evening. They spent every possible moment together. They were inseparable and it terrified him. It terrified him that despite his time with Meg he still thought of Christine. She was his love, his everything. She was his music, his heart and soul. He loved her. He—

"Erik?"

He stiffened as he heard Meg's voice. He kept his back toward her as he heard her get out of bed and walk toward him. She laid her hands upon his shoulders, her face leaning against his scarred back, scars he'd never wanted her to discover.

She began slowly kissing her way around him, eventually standing in front of him. She looked angelic as she stood in front of the window, the moonlight illuminating her soft features, her nipples hard from the cool night.

She looked into his eyes and he was lost. He couldn't do it. Her blue eyes hypnotized him. He couldn't hurt her.

"Meg," he whispered, embracing her. Her nude breasts against his body were mesmeric. He sighed.

They stood there holding another for a moment. Meg then began kissing him once more.

She kissed his chest, enticingly licking his nipples. She kissed the hard ridges of his stomach, flicking her tongue in his navel. She then fell upon her knees, taking his manhood in her hands. Erik groaned.

He looked down at her, their eyes locking gazes. Her eyes burned through him. She then brazenly took him in her mouth.

"My God," he moaned.

He felt Meg smile and he laid his hands in her hair. She wrapped her arms around his body, grasping his buttocks with her delicate hands. Erik then leaned his arms against the window, utterly defeated. "Don't stop now."

She continued loving him with her mouth, her sweet tongue devouring him. She then brought her hands upon him, devoting herself completely to his engorged flesh. He brought one of his arms from the window and laid it once again in her golden curls.

"Meg, please," he moaned as he began to pull away from her, wanting to touch her, to devote his own mouth to her exquisite body. Yet she wouldn't have it. She wrapped her arms around his body once more, not allowing him to pull away.

She was a woman obsessed. She vigorously began caressing him with her tongue, her mouth sliding against him. He was hers.

After a few moments he let out a low groan as he spilled his seed inside her heavenly mouth. She released him, laying her head against his thigh. They were silent, their heavy breathing echoing throughout the moonlit room.

"I love you, Erik," he heard her whisper. He forced himself not to flinch, her confession bringing him back to reality. "I cannot help it," she continued. "I love you."

Erik closed his eyes. He was a desperate man. He looked down at the innocent woman kneeling at his feet, Persephone worshiping Hades. _Oh, Meg._

He kneeled down beside her and kissed her sweet mouth. He then smiled at her.

"Please, say something." Her voice shook.

He lifted her from the floor and laid her in bed. He then lay down beside her, taking her in his arms.

She was watching his face intently. He was trapped. He couldn't hurt her, didn't want to hurt her.

It was Meg who found the courage to speak. "I know you still love her, Erik. I know you'll always love her." She paused. He knew she was nervous. She looked down at his chest and began caressing it. She then sheepishly looked at him. "But, do you think you could love me, too? Love me, Erik. Just say you love me."

Tears filled her eyes. He tremulously smiled as tears filled his own. He took her hand, laying them both upon his chest. "I do love you, Meg. Do you believe that?"

She looked into his eyes and was silent for a long time. When she finally spoke her voice was barely a whisper. "I believe you don't wish to hurt me."

She then pulled form their embrace and turned away from him. She pulled the blankets over her nude body, wrapped her arms around her bent knees and silently cried herself to sleep.

Observing her, Erik reached his hand out to touch her back and thought better of it. He hated himself. He laid his hands beneath his head and stared at the ceiling, two very different women consuming his thoughts for two very different reasons.

*******

Dawn. Meg sighed as she watched the sunrise from her warm bed, tears falling down her face. It was breathtaking. It was a new day.

She then looked down at the man who lay beside her. She laid her hand upon his dark hair, lightly caressing it.

_Why can't you love me?_

She wiped away her tears wondering if this was how he felt the night Christine left him for the Vicomte.

Meg knew she was being selfish but she loved him so much. She hadn't meant to fall in love with him over these past months. He knew his soul belonged to Christine but something about him captivated her. She was his completely.

She'd decided not to tell Christine of Erik once they'd passionately made love the night of the de Chagny _bal masqué_. She felt horrible for betraying her dearest friend. Yet once she'd found out that Christine and Raoul were to have a child she felt it would be best for Christine to never know. She didn't want to hurt her or Erik. She'd never told Erik the de Chagny's were to have a child.

She nodded her head, convincing herself that she'd done the right thing. Her mother certainly felt she'd done the right thing, neither wanted to infringe upon Christine's happiness nor Erik's. She'd only seen Christine a few times since _le bal masqué_ yet not once did Christine mention that night and Meg's promise to tell her what was happening in the Girys' lives. She was too enthralled with having a baby. Meg was grateful for it.

Now that she and Erik were lovers she'd thought of nothing else but him. They spent every waking moment together. She'd given him her body and soul completely yet in return she'd only received his body. _His erotically handsome body,_ she thought heartbreakingly.

She shook her head. His body wasn't enough. In the beginning she thought it would be, but not any longer.

She'd known for some time that she'd never truly have him, especially once he'd returned from Paris one day with forms of contraception. He'd claimed he didn't wish to conceive a child because he thought himself a monster. He never wanted to take the chance of him creating a child who would bear the same mark as him, never wanting his child to suffer as he had.

She'd cried herself to sleep that night. She knew part of him was speaking the truth yet she also believed that he didn't wish to have a child with her. That he'd only risk the creation of his potentially deformed child if it were with Christine, with his Angel of Music.

_Damn him!_

Emotions suddenly taking over her mind, Meg lifted the pillow from beneath her and began furiously hitting Erik with it.

He woke with a start. "Meg! Stop it! Stop this now! Get a hold of yourself!" He shielded his face with his hands.

Meg then crawled upon him and continued vigorously hitting him. Finally, he grabbed her wrists and tore the pillow from her hands, throwing it across the room.

"Meg, damn it," he roared. He stared at her fixedly, anger and confusion in his amber eyes.

She suddenly began crying hysterically and he took her in his arms. He began caressing her back as she clung to him.

"Hush, Meg. Please, don't cry. I hate this. You know I do. I am so sorry."

She continued sobbing. "I know, Erik," she mumbled between sobs, "I know you are. So am I. I hate you and yet I love you."

"Oh, Meg," he murmured, his own voice trembling. "Please, forgive what I have done to you these last months. Please. I couldn't bear it if you hated me. My God," he whispered as he finally succumbed to his own tears. "What have I done to you?"

She looked up at him, anger and despair overcoming her, "It's what I've done to myself! I fell in love with you knowing you're in love with her! Damn it! I'm no better than you! Wanting someone I cannot have! It's true! Misery loves company! Damn you, Erik! Damn you!"

Erik held her tighter as she fell into his arms once more, her sobs becoming unbearable. She couldn't do this. She couldn't do this to herself, to Erik. She felt like such a fool.

She finally found the strength to look into his eyes once more. Straddling him, she gently touched his masked face. In return he wiped her tears, and then laid his hands upon her shoulders, tenderly caressing them.

"Talk to me, Meg."

She caressed his face then leaned down and kissed him. He retuned her kiss, caressing her back before pulling her toward him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to lash out at you."

Erik uneasily chuckled. "It's all right," he responded, removing a curl from her face. "I understand."

They embraced another once more.

"I must go, Meg."

She tensed. She knew what he meant. He wanted to leave their home. Perhaps it was time for him to go, for him to begin life once again.

She sat up and looked into his eyes once more. "I know. You should probably go. It would be what's best for you."

She caressed his chest as he caressed her arms, neither speaking for a long while. He continued staring fervently into her eyes. She blushed.

"You mustn't look at me like that. It'll make me hate you even more." She sweetly giggled then.

Erik sighed and laid his hands upon her face. "I do love you, Meg. I—"

"I know, Erik. I know. Just not in the way I wish you to love me. Christine will always have your soul. I know this. I've always known this," she reluctantly admitted.

"Then why did you let me do this to you, my sweet Meg? Why, knowing I was only hurting you?"

"Because I wanted you, because I've been alone for so long. I couldn't take it anymore."

Erik smiled then, tears filling his eyes. "I know exactly what you mean. Sometimes it's better to be alone, though."

"Yes," she murmured. "No one can hurt you when you're alone."

Tears began falling down their cheeks simultaneously as they embraced another once more.

"I'm sorry," Erik whispered.

"Me too, Erik, I'm so very sorry."

They were silent, caressing their nude bodies, taking in their last moments of intimacy together.

"That night—" Erik began then suddenly paused. Meg pulled away from him and looked into his eyes.

"Yes?"

"That night beneath the Opera House with Christine and the Vicomte—" He paused once more.

"It's all right, Erik. I'm here."

"I threatened them both, especially Christine. I told her she had to choose between me and the Vicomte. I told her that if she chose him then I'd kill him. That either way she chose she'd have to live with me in my Hell for eternity, I'd kill him no matter what." He took her hands in his then, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb. "She chose me, Meg. Yet I knew she chose me to save the Vicomte." He looked up at her then, his words becoming frighteningly passionate. "She sacrificed her beautiful life to save him! I already thought she was the most wonderful woman in the world, the most beautiful woman, but in that moment I truly thought her to be immortal."

Tears began streaming down his face as he continued his sad confession. "She told me that I wasn't alone! And then she kissed me, Meg! She kissed me! Not once, but twice! First she kissed me chastely and then hugged me with such fervency. I was terrified. I hadn't an idea of what to do! I was overwhelmed with her ardor. Then she looked deeply into my eyes." He looked out the window then, his mind clearly picturing their kiss, their moment together. "I'll never forget that look. She looked at me with such sadness, such devotion. I wanted to believe that she'd come to realize she loved me! Then she kissed me once more and I was too helpless to resist. There was such passion in her second kiss. It was wonderful."

He pulled away from her then, emerging from the bed and walking toward the window, his naked body a picture of complete perfection. _A Greek god, _she thought.

"I couldn't do it, Meg," he finally whispered. "I couldn't force her to stay with me. I wanted to believe that she loved me, that she wanted me. I saw it in her eyes, felt it in her embrace, in her kiss." Meg saw him lay his fingers upon his lips. "I wanted her to stay with me forever, but I couldn't do it. She loved the Vicomte. So I let her go." Meg could hardly hear those last words, his voice barely above a whisper.

"That's beautiful, Erik." She stood up and walked toward him, tentatively laying her hands on his shoulders. "Your sacrifice, what you did for her, that's truly beautiful."

He abruptly turned to her, gently grasping her shoulders. "You think so, Meg, truly?"

She smiled, laying her hand upon his masked cheek. "I truly think so."

"Oh, Meg," he cried as he took her in his arms, laying his head in the crook of her neck. "Thank you, Meg. Thank you."

He was silent then for some time. She could feel him trembling.

"I thought that one moment was the only good thing I'd ever done in my life. Yet it was the hardest thing I'd ever done, letting her go."

Meg cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. "Did you ever tell her you loved her, Erik?"

"Yes," he answered fervently.

"What happened?"

He was silent for a long time. He turned to look out the window once more, taking her hand in his and pulling her in front of him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and laid his head on her shoulder.

"It was after I let them go and yelled for them to leave me. I was sitting down crying to myself when I felt her presence. For one hopeful moment I thought she'd returned to me."

"She didn't, did she?"

Meg felt him shake his head. "No," he sighed. "We stood there for a moment, her hazel eyes were filled with tears. There was such sadness in her eyes. I hated seeing her like that." He paused. "She then took my ring off her left ring finger."

"The ring you'd given her after you two sang together during _Don Juan Triumphant_," Meg observed.

"Yes." He lightly squeezed her then. "She slowly handed me my ring, as if she was still debating with herself on whether to stay with me or leave with the Vicomte. I went to take it from her but I couldn't help myself. I gently grasped her hand and confessed my love to her. That was the first time I'd ever told her I loved her. Sometimes I wonder if I'd told her sooner…" He shook his head, "never mind."

He sighed before continuing. "I kneeled down before her, still holding her hand, the ring between us, and cried as she stood there looking down at me. Tears were falling down her face then. After some time she lifted me up and gently kissed me. She kissed me again, Meg, though I knew it was goodbye. I called out her name softly as she began to leave me. She stopped for a moment and looked at me over her shoulder. Then she was gone. It was over."

Meg turned to face him once more. She kissed him chastely on the lips. "I love you, Erik. Thank you for telling me this."

He smiled. "I love you, too, Meg, _mon amie_."

"_Mon ami_," she softly repeated, "my friend."

Erik swept Meg up in his arms and walked her to the bed. "Let me make love to you one last time, my sweet."

She smiled as he laid down upon her then and kissed her passionately. Meg succumbed to his passionate touch praying she wouldn't regret this, that she wouldn't regret loving this man_._


	13. One Last Time

_**Chapter Twelve: One Last Time **_

_Paris, April 1886 _

"Angel," Christine breathed, tears streaming down her pale face as she weakly leaned against the railing of her balcony, "my Angel of Music."

It was a crisp spring evening and Christine had found herself unable to resist the temptation of the setting sun after spending several restless days in bed. Determined to witness it, she'd shakily emerged from bed, defying the physician's orders, and wrapped her dressing gown around her feeble body. She was very weak and incredibly exhausted.

Yet, once reaching her destination, the glorious setting sun kissing her face, thoughts of her angel began to fill her mind, along with another horror, her weak and exhausted body no longer important.

In the past three years she'd had three miscarriages. The most recent almost killing her. It had been difficult enough for her and Raoul to conceive a child, and when they had, especially this last time, they lived each day with trepidation, never able to express the joy of having one. They lived in absolute terror, deathly afraid of Christine losing a child once more.

She laid her hands upon her stomach. "Now I have lost you. How can Raoul ever forgive me? How can I ever forgive myself?"

She and Raoul hadn't spoken once since her miscarriage from a few days before. When he thought her sleeping she could feel him in the room with her, intently watching her, sometimes even lying down beside her, holding her hand. She'd hear him weeping but never allowed herself to be given away. She would lay there, her eyes remaining closed, feigning sleep. She didn't want to mourn with him. She simply didn't want to be near him, didn't want to look in his eyes and see his angst, his resentment.

The last year had been the hardest for her and Raoul's marriage. He was rarely home, spending most of his time at _le Musée du Louvre_ with Philippe, purposely throwing himself into his work. And whenever he was home, Christine did her utmost to avoid him. She couldn't bear to look at him after her second miscarriage last spring, and she certainly wasn't going to begin now, especially after losing another child.

Christine sighed, wrapping her arms around her body, her thoughts haunting.

She hadn't allowed Raoul in her bed for quite some time either. He now slept in his adjoining bedroom, attached by their shared dressing room. She couldn't bear his touch anymore. They'd hardly made love in the last year and when they discovered she'd been with child for the third time, both had been too afraid to touch another. They'd wanted to do as much as they possibly could to protect their unborn child.

She'd been most happy with Raoul for their first three years of marriage. After they lost their first child she'd been devastated, Raoul as well. Yet he'd been able to save her from the darkness and within less than two years he'd fulfilled his promise to her, giving her another child.

A child she'd lost.

Her despair over the last year along with her and Raoul's dwindling love had led her to finally admit to herself a dark secret she'd kept hidden within her soul for almost four long years. She knew it would ruin Raoul but she couldn't live the lie any longer.

She was irrevocably in love with her Angel of Music and needed him in her life once more. She needed him to save her.

She first believed that her despair was only because of her inability to give Raoul a child. She'd longed to bear Raoul's child, praying fervently each night for her ultimate desire to come to light. She'd wanted nothing more than to see the joy upon Raoul's face when she'd finally hand him the little bundle of loveliness born from their love.

Christine trembled. She'd dreamt so often of that moment. But it would never come.

Now she knew the truth. Now she understood the truth. It was _him._ It had always been him. She needed him, wanted him.

She shook her head in disbelief. She couldn't deny herself any longer.

Tears filled her eyes once more. She was in quite a conundrum. She wasn't in love with Raoul any longer yet she wouldn't leave him. She was being unbelievably selfish but she'd promised Raoul her life and meant her words when she'd spoken them with bated breath four years ago.

_I won't leave you, Raoul. But I cannot love you. Forgive me, my husband. _

She wanted to tell him but she was deeply afraid. She didn't want to hurt him. She'd already destroyed one man in her short lifetime. How could she possibly destroy a man who'd been nothing but wonderful to her?

Christine shook her head. She had to tell him. She wanted Raoul to have a choice. If he chose to leave her she would be devastated and relieved. It'd be the only way she could find her angel. It was the only way she could be with her angel.

_If he still wants me. _

Christine shook her head at the frightful thought and brushed it aside, thinking of Raoul once more.

He deserved to know the truth. She'd lied to him years ago when he'd first asked her if she was in love with her angel. But now things had changed. She couldn't continue to love him. She couldn't continue this deception. Yet the choice was his. She'd stay by his side or leave him. Whatever he decided, whatever he wanted, she'd comply. She just couldn't love him.

_The choice is yours, Raoul. I only hope you can save your soul, my sweet man. _

A cool breeze suddenly emerged, sweeping her brown curls about her face. She closed her eyes, and taking in a deep breath, quietly began to hum.

Music hadn't been a part of her life since her marriage to Raoul. She'd always been somewhat resentful toward him because of it, but felt it was the least she could do considering all he'd been through to protect her, to be with her. Besides, she knew it'd be highly improper for a Vicomtesse to take the stage, so she hadn't. She and Raoul never spoke of it and she sometimes wondered if she had simply confided to him that she missed the stage that he'd oblige her, that he'd allow her to sing once more.

Christine sighed, hating her thoughts, her endless wonderings.

She suddenly found herself softly beginning to sing. She sang for him, for her Angel of Music. It had been their secret song of dedication. It was her song to him of her unyielding devotion, of her desperate need for him and his music, of her need for his voice, his splendor.

She smiled, feeling the breeze against her face. She continued to sing for her angel, tears burning through her closed eyes.

_I love you, my angel. I'm yours._

*******

Raoul stood aside from the open French doors to the balcony, quietly listening to Christine's singing, tears in his eyes.

_No._

It was over.

Raoul recognized the song from almost five years ago. A song he'd heard Christine enthusiastically sing the night they'd been reunited in her dressing room after her debut performance. It was a song for her Angel of Music.

He'd first heard it when he'd returned to her dressing room so they could attend supper together to celebrate her debut and their serendipitous reunion. He'd been very excited. Yet once he'd heard her angelic voice praising her Angel of Music, and the voice of a man commanding her to come to him, he panicked. He banged on her door, anxiously calling out her name, but received no response. The door had been locked. Shaken, he began to run for help, when the door mysteriously opened.

He'd been too late.

She was gone. He couldn't fathom where or how, but she was gone.

_It was him. It was always him. _

It wasn't until much later when he'd come to find that this Angel of Music had indeed abducted her through the mirror, an abduction that would forever bind the two of them together, angel and lover, with Christine.

Yet he wasn't an angel. He was a flesh and blood man, the infamous Phantom of the Opera, a man that would haunt their lives for eternity.

But it hadn't been the last time he'd heard their haunting melody. It had been in a Parisian graveyard where Christine's father was buried. She had foolishly gone alone to visit her father's grave with the hope that one last goodbye to her father would cause her Angel of Music to leave her, would cleanse him from her mind, her soul.

She'd been terribly wrong.

He'd arrived in time to save her but he'd first been bewitched by the two.

Christine had been completely entranced by this man, this man who'd deceived her for years, claiming to be her Angel of Music. Raoul couldn't understand this power he held over her but it intrigued him in those few moments as he observed the two.

However, once he came to his own senses, he'd been able to break the spell and swept Christine away.

It hadn't been the last time he would save her from the Phantom's seductive thrall.

Raoul shook his head, wiping the unshed tears from his eyes.

_It seems I cannot protect you any longer, my love. You belong to him. _

Unable to prolong the inevitable, Raoul quietly walked out onto the balcony, hands sheepishly in his pockets.

"It's him, isn't it?"

Christine whirled around, clearly startled.

"Raoul," she replied breathlessly, "how long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," he murmured.

He slowly walked toward her, reaching his hand out to caress her face. Christine shied away from him. Raoul flinched.

"Why, Christine-love? Why now? Is it because you lost the baby? Please, tell me. Why him? Why, Christine?"

Tears began falling down his face. He roughly wiped them away, not wanting her to see how pathetic he'd become.

_You're no better than him._

She was silent for a long while. Raoul never took his eyes off her.

"Raoul, I'm—"

"No, Christine! I don't want to hear you're sorry. I want to know why. All these years, you've been in love with him! I know it! I've always known it! I've known it since the night we declared our love to another on the rooftop of the Opera House! I was just too blind to see it then! I wanted you so much that I didn't care what I had to do to have you!" He began vigorously pacing. "God, I am just like him!" He rounded on her. "Why didn't you tell me? Why, damn it," he shouted as he grasped her shoulders, shaking her. "I deserved to know the truth!"

"Raoul, stop it! You're hurting me! Please, I'll tell you everything! Please," she cried.

Raoul suddenly pushed himself away from her, leaning against the railing. "My God, what am I doing? What have I done to you," he murmured, tears falling down his face. "I've destroyed you. Oh, Christine, forgive me."

He dropped his face in his hands and wept. He could feel Christine's eyes burning through him. Raoul tensed when she laid her hand on his shoulder.

"Raoul," she whispered. "You haven't destroyed me. I've done this to myself. And there's nothing to forgive. It is I who should beg for your forgiveness. Look what I've done to you. I hate myself because of it."

Raoul abruptly turned to her, clenching her to his chest. "No, Christine-love. Don't ever say that."

She clung to him, silently weeping in his arms. He held her tighter, letting out a long sigh. "We both knew this day would come. I just didn't want to see it."

Christine looked up at him, wiping the tears from her flushed cheeks. "Oh, Raoul, I know. I never meant to deceive you. I do love you, truly. I'm just no longer—"

"In love with me," he finished for her, his heart breaking. "I know, Christine."

"I was in love with you, Raoul, long ago. You must believe me."

"I do. I do believe you."

He pulled away from her, looking up into the dark sky, his hands in his pockets once more. "There is so much I must say to you, Christine. So much I want to know. So damn much," he whispered, looking down at his feet.

Christine stood next to him. "Tell me, Raoul, ask me." She laid her hand on his elbow. "I'm listening."

He was quiet for some time. _Where to begin?_

"When we lost our first child—"

"You mean when _I_ lost our first child."

Raoul hastily looked into her hazel eyes. There was such sorrow in them, such guilt. He hated it. "No, Christine-love," he amended, laying a hand on her face, "don't ever say that. I have never blamed you for it."

"I know," she whispered, looking shameful. "I wish you had, though."

He chuckled. "You foolish woman," he said, leaning his forehead against hers. Christine precariously smiled.

Raoul placed his hands on her arms, stroking them. "You're shivering. Would you like to go inside, love?"

"No, it's all right. I'm not cold. Please, Raoul."

Understanding, Raoul continued, still caressing her arms. "When we lost our first child, I was unreservedly distraught. Seeing you in such pain and being able to do nothing of it, I was shattered. I desperately wanted to give you another." He paused, lifting her chin to look into his eyes. "Yet I was even more terrified of you longing for him once more. I knew that if I lost you to the darkness, to total despair, that you'd leave me, perhaps not physically, but emotionally. And I was right, wasn't I?"

She slowly nodded, tears streaming down her face once more. "Yes, Raoul, you were right. I knew then. I just couldn't tell you." She sighed. "I could hardly admit it to myself. But I…wanted him. I never stopped wanting him."

"You never stopped loving him, Christine. There is a difference between wanting and loving."

"I know," she sighed. "But with him, Raoul, the wanting, the loving, have always intertwined with another." She pulled away from him. "My God, I don't think I can do this."

"You must, love," Raoul replied, standing behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders. "For me, Christine, you must. Please."

She slowly turned to him, laying her hand on his cheek. "Yes, Raoul, you deserve the truth. After all I've done to you. You have naught but to ask. I'll tell you everything."

Raoul took his hand in hers, walking her toward the open doors. "Let's go inside."

Christine nodded her head, following him.

Once inside, they laid down in the bed together. The room was illuminated by several candelabra. It comforted Raoul. He wanted to see her lovely face as they opened their hearts to another for one last time.

_One last time,_ he thought sadly.

Christine spoke first. She was playing with their entwined hands, looking down at them. "I promise you that I had stopped thinking of him for some time, Raoul. Well, I stopped thinking of him in an intimate manner. I only thought of him as the angel who gave me my voice. But once I lost our first child, he was there inside my mind once again. He'd invaded my soul once more. You had saved me from the darkness soon after I lost the child, but not from him. It frightened me."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I love you, because I couldn't hurt you." She paused. "I was such a fool. I was already hurting you." She looked at him. "I never meant to hurt you, to deceive you, Raoul."

"I know," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "I'm to blame, too, Christine. I knew you needed him, wanted him. I knew you were…in love with him. I never wanted to speak of it, never wanted to succumb to the foreboding truth. I didn't want to lose you. I pitifully hoped that you'd forget once more." He scoffed. "Yet you never forgot, could never forget. It's pathetic, you know, my wanting to keep you away from him, secretly knowing it to be impossible."

"It's not pathetic, Raoul. You were scared."

"I still am. I've lost you, Christine."

"No, Raoul. You haven't lost me."

"Perhaps I haven't. But I've lost your love, your passion."

She paused, looking down at their entwined hands. "Yes," she softly admitted. "But I do love you, Raoul. I—"

He stopped her, placing a hand on her soft lips. "Hush, wife. I know you do. I must acknowledge that you aren't in love with me any longer. That's all."

She began crying once more, throwing herself into his arms. "Oh, Raoul, forgive me."

"I already have, Christine-love, a long time ago."

He held her then, neither speaking. Her sobs were unbearable. _Oh, Christine. _

Raoul finally spoke, gathering all the courage he had to confide to Christine his deepest fears, his darkest urges. He had to know everything.

"I know it's always been him, Christine. So then why did you choose to save my life that night? Why didn't you just let him kill me so you could be free to love him completely? Christine," he protested, forcing her to look into his eyes, "I would have been dead without you. You should have let him kill me, damn it! We both would have been better off."

Christine pulled away from him. Getting up from the bed, she walked to the other side, anger in her eyes. She slapped him. Raoul was floored. He lifted his hand to his cheek.

"How can you say that? Damn you, Raoul!" She began furiously pacing. "I was in love with you, damn it! You said you believed me! I was in love with both of you! But—"

"But I was the safe choice and you know it!" He jumped from the bed, anger overcoming him. "Damn it, Christine, you knew that I was the _right _choice! The choice that would have been accepted by society, the choice that would have made your life easier, given you security, given you—"

"No!" Christine screamed. "Don't you dare say that! You know it isn't true!"

She stood in front of him then, close enough for Raoul to feel her breasts against his chest. It was maddening.

"It was never easy! Loving you, loving him, it has never been easy! I wanted to save your life! I truly thought he was going to kill you!" She took in a deep breath. "It wasn't about security! It wasn't about society! It was always about him!" She paused, realizing her slip. She sat on the bed, obviously dumbstruck. It was the first time she'd admitted that everything she'd ever done had been for _him. _

"Yes," Raoul murmured. "It was always about him, never me, not really. You'd wanted to save him, Christine, to protect him. But he was irretrievably mad. You wouldn't have been able to handle him, to help him. You were just seventeen, still a young girl. But now," he sighed, "now you are a woman, Christine. Now you can handle him and you know it."

He sat down beside her. "God, what have we done to another?"

Christine said nothing.

Raoul laid his hand upon hers. "When you kissed him that ill-fated night, Christine, it killed me that there was nothing I could do to stop you. Yet I foolishly yelled out to you." He paused, remembering his yelling "no" in a moment of defiance. He'd never wanted her to sacrifice herself for him, never wanted to see her kissing him.

"I saw the passion and despair in his eyes," he continued. "I couldn't see your face, but your body conveyed the horrifying truth. After you'd kissed him the second time and fell to the floor, obviously overwhelmed, utterly despaired, I was lost. Yet I was in awe of you. What you'd done for him, for me, it was beautiful. Yet it'd always been about him."

"I wanted to save your life, Raoul," she sobbed.

"Shh, I know. Just listen to me." He looked down in his lap before continuing. "Then, when he fell down in front of you and took you in his arms… God, watching the two of you crying together, embracing another, sharing a moment together that I'd never understand…I hated you."

Christine flinched at his words but Raoul continued. She had to hear this. "When he lifted you off the ground and into his arms once more, I wanted to die. I hoped that he'd walk over to me and kill me, that he'd finish this madness, this deception between the three of us." He paused, sighing. "You knew then that he was the one. That kiss had been the decisive moment for you. I had already known but you hadn't until then. You just couldn't be with him. Not then. It wasn't the right time. But now, now it is."

Christine nodded.

"But you know what truly hurt that night, Christine-love?"

She shook her head.

He took her hands and brought them to his lips, kissing them. "What truly hurt was seeing you look back at him one last time while I foolishly believed I was taking you away from him forever. In the boat, as we quietly sung our love to another, you gazed at him. You first had eyes only for me, but then…then you sang to him! That, Christine, is something I have never been able to forgive. Seeing you gaze at him and sing _our_ words of love and devotion to _him…_ It hurt me."

Tears streamed down her face. "I hadn't even realized. Hearing his sobs, his pleading for me, I couldn't—"

"Shh, love, I already know. But I won't forgive you for that."

They were silent once more.

"You really believe you'd known that night on the rooftop that I was in love with him? I didn't even know then."

"Yes, yes I do. I confided it to Philippe some years ago. The passion in your eyes when you spoke of his voice, his music," he shook his head, "you'd never looked at me that way. And he wasn't even standing in front of you! You were in a complete trance. I knew you belonged to him, but I had deceived myself then. I wanted you so much. God, what a fool I've been."

"No, Raoul," Christine whispered. "I betrayed you, deceived you. It was me," she took his face in her hands, "it was all me."

She embraced him, his head on her breasts. He clung to her as if he were a terrified child. He could hear her heart, her heart that was no longer his. He began to cry once more.

"Christine," he reluctantly whispered after a moment, "do you ever imagine what your life would have been like if he hadn't released you, if you'd stayed with him?"

She was quiet for some time before answering. "Yes, Raoul, I have. And I always wondered if I could have saved him. Though, you are probably right. I wouldn't have been able to save him, not then. But now—"

"Now you want to know if you can save him still," Raoul finished for her, looking up into her eyes.

She nodded her head.

Raoul stood up, pacing the room. He stopped in front of her, taking her hands and lifting her from the bed. He embraced her. "Then I release you, Christine-love. Now it is I who must be valiant and let you go." He pulled away from her, looking intently into her tear filled eyes. "I release you, Christine."

"No, Raoul, I won't leave you. You must be the one to leave me! I won't leave you—"

He laid a finger to her lips. "Hush, love, you must. Your soul calls to him, belongs to him. You need him in a way you'll never need me. I cannot allow you to stay here with me any longer. It will destroy your beautiful soul and I love you too much to allow that to happen." He kissed her forehead. "I won't allow you to stay because of obligation. I would come to hate you because of it," he whispered.

Christine wept, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Oh, Raoul, I'm so sorry."

He wrapped his arms tightly around her shoulders. "So am I, Christine-love, so am I."

They held another for a long while. Raoul was heartbroken. He didn't want to lose her but knew her happiness was all that mattered.

"I thought," Christine whispered, her voice muffled against his chest, "I believed, that our having a child would save us, Raoul. But I was completely wrong." She looked up into his eyes. "I wanted to give you a child, Raoul, but it was foolish of me to believe that it would make me love you."

"Is that why you feigned sleep whenever I sat with you? I wanted to mourn with you, Christine, but you wouldn't allow that, would you?"

Her cheeks burned with betrayal. "You knew that?"

Raoul chuckled. "Christine-love, I know everything when it comes to you."

She looked down at the floor. "Yes," she murmured guiltily. "Yes, you do." She let out a long breath. "What a mess I have gotten us in."

"No, love, it was both of us. We've both been incredibly selfish—"

"And unbelievably foolish," she finished.

"I didn't want to lose you. I wanted you all to myself."

"And I never wanted to hurt you. You must hate me."

They leaned their foreheads against another. "Never, Christine-love, I could never hate you, will never hate you. I will always love you."

She laid her hands on his face. "I will always love you, too, Raoul."

Raoul tremulously smiled. "Lay with me tonight, Christine. Let me stay with you, just for tonight."

She looked into his eyes for a long while, clearly debating. She smiled. "Of course, Raoul, I'd like that."

They settled into bed together, Christine laying her head in the crook of his neck, Raoul wrapping his arms around her.

"What made you decide to confront me, Raoul? After all this time, after all these years, why confide to me now that you've known I've been in love with him all along?"

Raoul sighed. "I almost lost you, Christine." He looked down into her eyes. "When the physician told me that you almost lost your life because of the child that I so selfishly helped to create inside you, I wanted to die. I, too, believed that having a child would fix everything, would force you to continue loving me," he admitted shamefully. "I wanted to take your place. I wanted to hold you in my arms and protect you forever." He squeezed her. "Reality finally challenged me then and I knew I had to set you free. I couldn't allow you to risk your life for me any longer. I knew you wanted nothing more than to make me happy, I've always known that. And I've always wanted to make you happy." He paused. "I may have taken you away from him, Christine, but I couldn't take him away from you. Not any longer." He kissed her lightly on the lips.

"I understand."

He began caressing her arms. "Where will you go?"

"To the Girys, I suppose. I've always believed they've known of his whereabouts. He and Madame Giry were very close. She was his confidant."

"I will see you there safely—"

"No, Raoul, you cannot. I must do this on my own. I hope you can understand." She looked shyly into his eyes.

He stared at her for some time, debating with himself. He nodded, taking her hands in his. "I understand. Promise me," he grasped her hands tightly in his own, "promise me you'll write as soon as you've arrived. I must know you're safe."

She smiled, leaning down and kissing his hands. "Of course, Raoul, I promise."

"And if you find him, Christine-love, please, don't tell me."

She looked at him, puzzled. "I don't understand."

He took her face in his hands. "Please, once you've settled yourself, write to me once more, but I do not wish to know if it is him you are with." He looked down, tears falling down his face onto her delicate hands. "When I find the courage, I shall ask you. But for now, all I wish to know is that you are safe."

She smiled, nodding her head. "I understand. I promise you, Raoul."

He pulled her on top of him then, caressing her back. He lifted her up, removing her chemise.

"Raoul—"

"Hush, love, just let me hold you one last time, let me feel you. Let me see you."

She smiled, looking deeply into his eyes, understanding dawning in her own. "Thank you, Raoul, for loving me, for allowing me to love him. For our life together, I shall never regret it." She kissed the tears on his cheeks. "Love you," she whispered.

"I know, Christine. I love you, my darling."

They held another, reveling in the comfort of each other's arms for one last time.

_She's yours. Take care of her. _

Raoul sighed, wrapping his arms tighter around Christine, tears continuing to fall down his face.

_I know you will._


	14. Eternal Ruler

_**Chapter Thirteen: Eternal Ruler **_

Christine exhaled as she raised her hand to the Girys' door, softly knocking.

_You can do this._

She was dressed in a dark green gown, her hair falling down her back, a small suitcase in her hand. She looked over her shoulder. Raoul's carriage still waited for her. The driver had been ordered to stay with her until she said it was all right for him to go. Raoul had insisted she take it, he'd wanted nothing more than to see her safely to the Girys' home, despite her not letting him come with her.

She sighed at the thought of him.

It'd been only a few weeks since her and Raoul had agreed to annul their marriage on the knowledge that they hadn't produced an heir. She would have pursued the Girys sooner, but there had been much left to do, to say. She very well couldn't leave Raoul until their annulment became final in the eyes of the law and God. She trembled. It had been dreadful. She left Raoul a broken man. She was shattered because of it.

The dark truth of her and Raoul's marriage wasn't that they hadn't produced an heir, though that was true enough. It was because she wasn't in love with him any longer. So he let her go. He didn't want to, didn't need to, but he had.

_I love you, Raoul. Thank you._

She never meant to hurt him. She only wanted to love him. Yet she simply couldn't now and he'd understood. God, he was the ideal man. She would always love him for that. He'd always have a part of her.

But she belonged to _him._

_I will find you, angel._

Lost in her thoughts, Christine hadn't noticed the door opening.

"Hello, Christine," a soft but powerful voice murmured. It was Madame Giry who greeted her. "I thought you might come."

Madame Giry gently grabbed her shoulders and embraced her. Without any thought, Christine returned her embrace, tears streaming down her face.

"I need your help, Madame Giry."

"Hush, child. I know. I heard of your and the Vicomte's annulment. Come inside, dear, there is much to discuss."

Christine nodded, wiping her tearstained cheeks, as Madame Giry brought her inside, shutting the door behind them.

Madame Giry led her into what she presumed to be the sitting room, taking her suitcase and setting it down outside the door. Christine silently observed the small room. It was lovely.

She shook her head. Their life must be so simple. She hoped hers would soon be, too, with him.

"Please, sit, Christine. Is there anything I can get you?"

Christine sat down on the chaise lounge. "Tea would be nice. It has been a long journey from Paris."

Madame Giry smiled. "I imagine it has, my dear."

She walked to the door and quietly asked one of the servants to make them tea. Then, sitting down beside her, Madame Giry took Christine's trembling hands in her own.

"You've come for him, haven't you?"

"Oh, yes, Madame Giry, please, don't hate me for it. It's not that I don't wish to see you or Meg, it's only—"

"It's all right, Christine. I understand."

"I must find him. Please, help me."

Madame Giry looked intently at her for some time. She was dressed in a simple black gown, her hair pulled back into a chignon. Christine smiled. Some things never changed. It was quite comforting. This was the Madame Giry she'd always known, the mysterious ballet mistress, her surrogate mother.

A maid entered the room then, bringing their tea.

"Thank you, Olivie."

Olivie smiled. "Will there be anything else, madam?"

Madame Giry shook her head, "Nothing more, dear."

Olivie began to leave, but Madame Giry stopped her. "Actually, Olivie, will you inform my daughter of our guest, please."

"Of course, madam," she replied sweetly.

Madame Giry smiled. "Thank you, Olivie."

Olivie quietly left the room. They were alone once more.

Madame Giry poured her a cup of tea, gracefully handing it to Christine. "Drink, my dear," she murmured.

Christine took the teacup from her hand and eagerly drank. It was delicious. She suddenly felt relaxed.

"Thank you."

Madame Giry pleasantly smiled.

They were silent for a moment. Christine was incredibly nervous, suddenly questioning herself for coming. _What if they don't know where he is? What if I've been wrong this whole time? _

"Christine, _ma petite,_ I see the worry in your sweet hazel eyes." She cupped Christine's cheek. "Everything is going to be just fine. Whatever you wish to know I shall tell you. Just say the word."

Christine cynically laughed. "I don't even know where to begin."

Madame Giry smiled gently, taking Christine's free hand in her own. "Let me begin by telling you, then, that he is all right. He's safe and very much alive."

Christine sighed, tears filling her eyes. "I'm very glad," she whispered.

She abruptly set her teacup upon the table and wept.

"Oh, Christine, darling," Madame Giry soothed, placing her own cup on the table and taking Christine in her arms. "He'll be happy to see you."

"You truly believe so?"

"Yes, my dear." Madame Giry rubbed Christine's back. "I'm here. Let it out, darling. I know it hurts."

Christine sniffled, looking up at Madame Giry. "I'm very sorry. This is quite embarrassing."

"No, child, it's not."

Christine reached over for a napkin and wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Christine," Madame Giry began. "Oh, goodness, now _I_ don't even know where to begin."

They both laughed.

"Christine, for the first six months after that…night," they both looked down at the floor, Madame Giry pausing.

The very thought of that ill-fated night disturbed Christine. Madame Giry, too, it would seem.

"He disappeared," Madame Giry continued. "I'm not entirely sure where he went, but he'd needed time for himself."

Christine nodded, understanding.

Madame Giry sighed. "Yet, that summer, he found me. I reached out to him and he came to me."

Christine fixedly looked into Madame Giry's eyes. "What? You mean he's been here all along? Madame Giry—"

"Hush, Christine. He isn't here any longer. But, he did stay here with us for eight months."

Christine looked down at her lap, her eyes searching hopelessly for answers.

He'd been here for eight months and neither of them told her! It infuriated her! It explained everything! Meg's behavior toward her! His appearance at the—

"Madame Giry," she hastily began, "I saw him! He came to—"

She nodded. "I know, _ma petite_. He found you." She sighed, picking up her teacup once more. "I know you two briefly saw another at your _bal masqué_ that Christmas." She sipped her tea before continuing. "I never meant for that to happen. I'm so very sorry for it."

Christine shook her head. "No, don't be. I'd first been petrified when I saw him there that night." She smiled, recollecting him standing there in his bold glory. "But, I'm glad I did."

Tears suddenly began to fall down her face. "I hurt him, though. I turned him away from me." She crumpled her dress in her hands as she thought of the pain in his amber eyes when she refused to let him come to her. "God, I regret pushing him away that night."

Madame Giry laid a hand on hers. "He understood."

Christine looked up at her. "You spoke with him about it?"

She smiled. "Not for some time. But we did speak of it, yes. He loves you, Christine."

"I know. And I love him, Madame Giry, very much."

"I know you do."

Madame Giry stood up from the chaise lounge and walked over to a small desk. She opened the drawer, taking out a small piece of paper. She turned to her, tears in her dark eyes.

"This is for you, Christine," she began, walking back to the chaise lounge and sitting beside her. "It's his address. I've had it written for you for quite a while. I've been waiting for you, my child."

Tears fell down Christine's face once more, as she shakily took the address from Madame Giry's hands. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything." She smiled, patting Christine's hand.

Christine stared at the slip of paper for a moment before carefully setting it down upon the table. She never took her eyes off it, yet was too scared to continue holding it. It brought her one step closer to _him. _The thought was almost too surreal for Christine to comprehend.

"Christine, please," Madame Giry spoke seriously now, inadvertently interrupting her thoughts. "Please forgive Meg and me for what we did, for keeping him from you. I've forever regretted it but felt it'd been the right thing to do, for you and him."

Christine was silent. Could she forgive them? It truly hurt that they hadn't trusted her, that they'd kept him from her for eight long months. Yet she would forgive them, could forgive them. They protected her from the possible agony that could have erupted if she and her angel had truly met again. It would have destroyed them both, would have destroyed Raoul.

She was thankful they hadn't told her. She'd overcome her misery over her angel that summer and her and Raoul had been immensely happy for the last six months of that year. Seeing him again would have changed things drastically and she wouldn't change that autumn and winter with Raoul for the world.

She smiled. "There is nothing to forgive, Madame Giry. I know why you did it."

Madame Giry sighed. "Oh, thank goodness, my child. Thank you."

They embraced another, Madame Giry rubbing Christine's back, Christine squeezing her shoulders.

"Thank you, Madame Giry," Christine whispered in her ear, "for everything."

They pulled away from another only to be greeted by a small voice, a voice Christine had truly missed.

"Christine?"

"Meg!" Christine exclaimed, getting up from the chaise lounge and joyfully walking toward her. "How are you my dear friend?"

Tears filled Meg's eyes. "Oh, Christine, it's so wonderful to see you."

"It's wonderful to see you, too, Meg," Christine agreed, taking her in her arms. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too."

She was sweetly dressed, wearing a light pink day dress. Her golden curls fell upon her shoulders. Her blue eyes sparkled with excitement. She was adorable. _I have missed you my sweet friend._

Madame Giry stood from the chaise lounge and walked toward the two of them. "My girls," she murmured, "my beautiful girls."

The three embraced, tears filling their eyes and falling down their flushed faces.

"Well." Madame Giry spoke first, wiping tears from her eyes. "I shall let the two of you be." She turned to Christine. "It's so wonderful to see you, child. Promise me you'll stay for a few days."

Christine eagerly smiled. "Oh, yes, Madame Giry. I promise."

She cupped Christine's cheek and kissed her forehead. She smiled at them both then left the room.

*******

"Olivie made some tea, Meg. Will you join me?"

Meg hesitated. Now was the moment of truth. After four agonizing years she could finally tell Christine everything. But would she?

Meg nodded. "Yes, of course. Please, sit, Christine."

They sat upon the chaise lounge. Christine poured Meg some tea then added more to her own cup.

"Thank you."

Christine smiled.

"I suppose Mama told you of our terrible secret."

"Yes, she did."

"Oh, Christine, can you ever forgive us?"

"I already have, Meg."

"You understand then?"

Christine nodded her head with conviction. "Yes."

"I hated what I was doing to you. Mama did too. We wanted to protect you, to protect him, to help him heal."

"Has he healed, Meg? Oh, Meg, you're mother told me that he's truly all right, but—"

Meg placed a hand upon Christine's shoulder. "He is, Christine. Truly, he is. He's a completely independent man now."

Christine tremulously smiled. "Oh, that's wonderful."

"Yes, it is. Mama and I see him every so often, so I promise you, he's fine. He's content."

They silently sipped their tea, words escaping them both.

_Tell her, Meg, just tell her. She'll understand! She's your friend._

"While he stayed with you and your mother for those eight months," Christine paused for a moment, obviously collecting her thoughts. "What happened?"

Meg panicked.

Yet before she could answer, Christine anxiously continued. "Does he still compose, Meg? Does he still have his music? Please, I must know."

"Oh, yes! Yes, he does, Christine. He didn't play for the first few months of his stay here, but when he did… Oh, Christine, it was so beautiful."

"Yes," Christine sighed, her eyes dazed, "yes, it was." Tears filled her eyes. "Oh, Meg, what have I done?"

"No, Christine, no," Meg soothed, taking the teacup from Christine's hand and placing it on the table, hers as well. She took Christine in her arms.

"Do you think he'll forgive me, Meg?"

"There is nothing to forgive, Christine. It was all him and he knows it."

"I was frightened, Meg. I couldn't handle him, couldn't understand him. But something happened to me the night he abducted me after _Don Juan Triumphant, _something beautiful_._ Yet it was too late! It was too damn late! I'd lost him," she cried, clenching Meg tighter.

"Shh, Christine, it's all right. But you must tell him this, my dear, sweet, friend. You must."

Christine looked up at Meg, wiping her face. She nodded. "Yes, I will. There is much I need to say to him. I don't know if I can do it, though."

Meg grabbed her hands. "You can, Christine, and you will. You both deserve the truth. He loves you."

Christine softly laughed. "That's exactly what your mother said."

"It's because it's true." Meg whispered. There was shame in her voice, in her eyes, shame that hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Meg, are you all right? You're trembling."

Meg drew in a deep breath. It was time. "Christine, he and I, that is, we—"

"What is it, Meg?"

Meg looked down at their clasped hands, biting her lip. Christine suddenly pulled her hands away. Meg looked up into her eyes.

She knew.

"You comforted him." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes." Meg simply said. She hadn't an idea what else to say.

"How much comfort," Christine asked. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Meg was silent.

"Oh." Christine stood from the chaise lounge and walked toward the window.

Meg began to silently cry. She felt horrible. Yet she felt a vast burden lift from her shoulders. She shook her head. _No matter. This isn't about me, you selfish girl, this is about Christine and Erik._

"Christine, please say something."

She stayed silent, gazing out the window, her back to Meg. Then, "Did you make him happy, Meg?"

"No, not really," she sighed. "Perhaps in the beginning—" She stopped herself. "No, he was never happy, not with me."

It was the first time she'd admitted it to herself. He'd never been happy with her.

"It was you, Christine. It has always been you. But he was so alone and so was I. I think I needed him more than he needed me," she murmured. "I wanted to tell you, Christine! I just couldn't. Even though he wasn't happy, I was! He made me feel everything! And I know I've betrayed you and made things much more complicated for the two of you, but I couldn't help myself. Oh God," she cried, laying her face in her hands.

She continued crying uncontrollably. She tensed as she felt Christine sit down beside her, taking her in her arms.

"It's all right, Meg."

"No, it's not! I betrayed you, Christine!"

"No, Meg, you gave him something I couldn't. Not then."

Meg looked up at her. "You can now, though, Christine."

"I promise you, Meg. I love him with my entire soul," she declared fervently. "I need him more now than I could ever imagine. I'll never leave him again. I promise to love him with my whole heart." She paused. "Thank you for being there for him. I am grateful for it."

Meg shook her head. "I don't understand. You certainly don't need to explain yourself to me. I know you love him, know you'll take care for him. But you should hate me. I hate myself."

Christine softly smiled. "You sound like me, Meg. This was almost the exact conversation Raoul and I had some weeks ago. I love you, Meg. You're my dearest friend and I truly believe that you hadn't lain with him to spite me. I believe you needed him and I'm sure he needed you, too. Thank you, Meg, for telling me this."

Meg looked at Christine in complete disbelief. "Oh, Christine, he was right, you truly are an angel! I love you, too!"

Meg threw herself into Christine's arms, both holding on to another as if their lives depended upon it.

Christine spoke first. "It's over now, Meg, the lies, the deception, the alleged betrayals. It's truly over. We can all live in peace now."

Meg nodded. "Yes, you're right, Christine. We can finally have peace."

They both smiled.

"You must be hungry," Meg proclaimed. "Forgive my manners! Supper should be ready soon. Would you like to lie down and rest beforehand?"

"Oh, yes, that would be lovely. Thank you, Meg."

Christine reached for the table and lifted a piece of paper off it. It was Erik's address. Meg frowned.

_She's yours, Erik. Do not forget me._

They stood up from the chaise lounge and walked toward the hallway together.

Meg stopped as Christine continued to leave the room, a realization coming over her.

"Erik."

Christine stood still. She turned toward Meg. "What?"

"His name, Christine, his name is Erik."

Christine looked down at the floor. "Erik," she softly repeated. She looked up, gazing out the window from across the room. "Eternal ruler," she said, smiling. "It suits him."

They smiled together and walked out of the room. Meg called for Olivie.

"Yes, Mademoiselle Meg."

"Will you please escort Madame la—" She paused, recognizing her mishap.

Christine giggled. "Mademoiselle Daaé." She simply corrected.

Meg nodded, understanding. Of course she'd take her maiden name again. Of course she'd lose her title, a title she sacrificed for him. She shook her head. She knew she'd never wanted it anyhow, not Christine.

She looked at Olivie once more. "Will you please escort Mademoiselle Daaé upstairs and show her to the guest bedroom."

"Of course, Mademoiselle Meg," Olivie smiled.

"Thank you, Olivie. I shall see you for supper, Christine."

Christine smiled. She then turned toward the stairs while Olivie picked up her suitcase and led her up to the spare bedroom.

Meg sighed, sensing her mother behind her. She turned toward her. "You didn't tell her, did you, Mama," she asked once she heard the door to Christine's room close.

Berenice shook her head. "No, I didn't."

Meg took her hand, entwining their fingers. "Neither did I."

Berenice wrapped her free arm around Meg's shoulder. Meg laid her head in the crook of her neck in response.

"They belong together, Meg."

"Yes, Mama, I know."

_I only hope she isn't too late._


	15. Christine

_**Chapter Fourteen: Christine **_

_Paris, May 1886_

Christine stood upon the bridge that led to Erik's vast estate, her eyes bewitched by enchantment.

It was a quaint château, much too small for the majestic environment that surrounded it. It seemed hundreds of grand trees inhabited the land, along with lush shrubbery and several rose bushes. It was very secluded. A grand cobbled path led to the imposing entrance.

It was beautiful.

She turned toward her faithful driver and signaled him to return to Raoul. The driver nodded his head with acknowledgment then clicked his tongue, pressing the horses to drive on. Christine watched him until he disappeared, making sure Raoul hadn't secretly ordered him to stay and watch over her from afar.

Satisfied he was gone she picked up her small suitcase and began the long walk toward Erik's home.

_His home, _she thought languorously.

She looked up into the sky for a moment as she walked, observing the dark clouds that filled it. A storm was clearly upon them yet she wasn't disconcerted.

She was almost there.

Christine turned once more, observing the small yet daunting river that flowed in front of the estate. It would seem the bridge was the only means of entrance to Erik's home.

_Always the clever man,_ she thought amusedly.

She turned toward his home once more, continuing her journey to the love of her dreams.

_Erik._

Ever since she'd learned his name she found herself unable to keep away from it. She constantly thought of the man. He was no longer just her Angel of Music, and he certainly wasn't the Phantom of the Opera to her either.

He was Erik, a flesh and blood man. A man she would eternally love. She smiled sweetly to herself.

It had only taken her two days to reach his estate. He, too, like the Girys, lived on the outskirts of Paris.

_The Girys,_ she thought happily.

They had been wonderful to her during her brief stay. She and Meg spent an infinite amount of time together while Madame Giry spoiled them with her scrumptious cooking. It seems that she had stopped once Erik left, too miserable and worried for him to bother. Meg had been most happy that her mother finally found happiness again during Christine's stay, spending a bountiful amount of time with them. She hoped Madame Giry continued to remain happy now that she was gone too.

Christine sighed. She enjoyed her time with them very much and was eager to return to them one day.

_Hopefully with you, Erik, will I return._

Christine stopped in her tracks. She was here. She suddenly felt nervous. She drew in a deep breath, smoothing her wild hair while doing so. She wanted to look divine for Erik, not matter how vain it would seem.

She'd dressed herself in a rose colored gown, the ruffled sleeves made of lace, the bodice embroidered with a slightly darker shade of pink, depicting delicate flowers. She wore her hair down, her copious brown curls falling to her waist.

She pulled her white gloves tighter about her shaking hands. _No use delaying any longer. He's just beyond the door. Knock!_

Christine slowly raised her hand and lightly knocked on the door.

She cowardly turned her back on it, praying to all that was good that he wouldn't be the one to open it. She bit her lip, unable to decide if he'd have servants. Madame Giry had told her he'd begun to trust more but that didn't mean he'd allow strangers into his home. She shrugged hopelessly.

She heard the door open. "Yes, madam, may I help you?"

She exhaled. It wasn't him.

_Thank God!_

"Madam," the butler repeated. "Are you quite all right?"

She turned to face him. "Yes, of course," she replied breathlessly. "I'm sorry. I was woolgathering for a moment. Please, forgive me."

The butler smiled at her and nodded in understanding.

He was a stately looking man, taller than your average domestic servant, and his athletic physique puzzled Christine. He was quite intimidating.

She shook her head at the realization. _He does have enemies. He is a wanted man in Paris still._ She sighed. He needed the protection.

Though the butler must have been in his mid-fifties he was still a very nice looking man with dark hair, streaked with silver, his gray eyes enhancing his stoic beauty.

"It's quite all right, madam. Now, what may I do for you?"

"I, well, that is—" She struggled. _How could I put this lightly?_ "Well, I'm interested in speaking with the master of your home."

The butler lifted his eyebrows. "Indeed."

She shyly laughed. "Yes, well, I hope it's all right. I must see him. It's very important."

He stared at her fixedly. Christine became weary. He wasn't going to let her in. She panicked.

"Please—"

"May I ask who you are, madam," he asked, subconsciously scratching his chin. He was clearly debating with himself on whether or not to trust her. His concerned face displayed his frenzied thoughts.

"My name," she hesitated. Then, "Yes, yes, of course! How impractical of me! I'm Mademoiselle Christine Daaé."

His eyes widened with recognition. "Mademoiselle Daaé! Yes, of course! Please, please, come in! How impertinent of me for my delaying you! We are all very protective of Monsieur Erik, I'm sure you understand."

She smiled pleasantly at him. "Yes," she whispered. "I do."

He escorted her inside, gently closing the door behind them. Christine sat her suitcase on the floor and began removing her gloves. She placed them upon her suitcase.

"If you wouldn't mind waiting a moment, I shall inform him you have arrived—"

"No," Christine protested. "Please, I'd rather you didn't."

He raised an eyebrow.

Christine cleared her throat. "He doesn't know I'm coming. You see—"

He raised a hand and shook his head. "You needn't say more." He smiled. "He's in his study, my dear. I would be much obliged to show you the way."

She smiled. "Please."

They began walking down the vast foyer, illuminated by several regal candelabra, when the château became illumined by a very different source of light.

The rain began to pour, the lightning assisting in its frightening glory.

"It would seem our storm has arrived," the butler observed.

"Indeed," Christine murmured.

"Shall we?" He held his arm out for her.

Christine gently grasped it. "Thank you."

*******

Erik groaned as he ran a hand through his hair, utterly frustrated. He abruptly stood up from his grand piano and walked over to the window overlooking the front yard of his safe haven.

He closed his eyes and embraced the storm. The rain always did soothe him. He let out a long breath, stretching his arms out above him.

He was exhausted.

Erik had endlessly spent the last several days and nights composing, spending his time between his study and his majestic music room. He was finding it absolutely impossible to turn away from his newest composition until he'd perfected the finale. It irritated him. It'd never taken him this long to finish a piece of art, especially an opera!

_Damn!_

He leaned against the window when he suddenly saw disaster strike. Erik shook his head with disdain.

The bridge had collapsed once more. The river had flooded.

"Shit," he murmured. "Not again."

At least this time he hadn't any reason to ride into Paris, or have any visitors. The last time the bridge had collapsed the Girys had been stranded here for quite some time. Not that Erik had minded. It was just a huge inconvenience to fix the damn thing.

He sighed. He'd have it rebuilt as soon as the weather cleared. Erik hoped it didn't any time soon. He needed to finish his much anticipated opera and rebuilding a bridge was a nuisance he didn't wish to deal with.

He walked back to his piano and leaned against it when he heard a gentle knock on the door, a knock that certainly didn't belong to Bernard, his overly protective and ever faithful butler.

"Yes? What is it?" He groaned. "_Who_ is it?"

Staring aimlessly at his newest masterpiece, his back to the door, he hadn't heard a response, or someone come in. Shrugging his shoulders, he wondered if he'd imagined the potential intrusion.

He ran a hand through his hair, forgetting about it, when he heard a soft, sweet voice, a voice that would forever haunt his dreams and possess his soul.

"Hello, Erik."

He tensed.

"It's me. It's Christine."

Erik trembled, too terrified to turn around. Tears filled his eyes. He'd dreamt of this moment for years, since before she'd rejected him at her and the Vicomte's _bal masqué,_ since she left him with the Vicomte as he pathetically cried for her in his eternal Hell. He'd dreamt of it for always.

He'd yearned for her to return to him, to love him. Her voice and soul had been inescapable and quite shameful. Many a time he had woken in the midst of the dark night, dreams of her haunting his mind. His thighs and bedding drenched with evidence, his seed a daunting reminder of the woman he'd eternally desire and never have.

A woman he'd lost because of his madness, because of his decrepit soul.

Yet here she was.

_Why, Christine? Why? Have you come to torment me, to spite me? Oh, God, Christine. _

He slowly turned toward her. Their eyes met.

_Angel…_

She smiled tremulously.

He stared at her intently, his vision blurred by his unshed tears. His eyes widened when he saw she was crying.

_My God she's beautiful._

She was a vision in pink. Her luscious brown curls falling carelessly down her back, her hazel eyes glowing with passion, her tearstained cheeks flushed. _My Angel, have you truly returned to me?_

"Christine," he softly spoke.

She smiled once more. "Erik."

She walked toward him. Instinctively, Erik laid his hand on his deformed cheek, making sure his mask was still in place. It was.

She shook her head and reached out to touch him. She laid her hand upon his, their hands entwining on his white leather mask. Erik trembled.

"My God," he whispered fervently. "You're real."

She softly laughed. "Yes, Erik, I'm real. And…I'm here."

"You're here. Yes."

He reached out and placed his other hand upon her soft face, wiping her tears from it. She leaned her cheek into his hand.

Erik immediately pulled away from her, as if her cheek burned him. He walked around the piano, standing behind it, as if it could protect him.

_I cannot do this! _

She looked away from him sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I thought—" She shook her head, looking down at the floor. "I don't know what I thought."

Without another word she turned and ran from the room.

Erik slammed his fist on the piano. _Damn you, you stupid fucking man, go after her!_

"Christine," he yelled, "please, wait!"

He ran from the room, storming after her. "Christine!"

She continued running. He finally caught up with her once they'd reached the foyer. "Christine, please, stop!"

She didn't.

Christine flung open the door and ran out into the stormy day.

Erik shook his head as he pursued her.

The rain slowed her down and he fanatically yelled out to her. The bridge was out and he certainly didn't want her to attempt to cross it. She wouldn't be able to see the destroyed bridge until it was too late.

"My God," he whispered to himself, suddenly terrified. "Christine! Stop! You can't cross the river!"

She couldn't hear him. He knew it was hopeless. He had to catch up to her, had to sweep her up into his arms and save her.

She abruptly stopped, obviously realizing the bridge was out. _Thank God._

Yet in her sudden attempt to prevent herself from continuing her bleak pursuit of the bridge she lost her balance and fell roughly onto the grass. Her shoulders were shaking. He knew she was crying.

Erik finally reached her and sat down beside her, taking her in his arms, hoping the warmth of his body would comfort her. "Oh, Christine, I'm so sorry."

She tried to pull away from him. He knew she was embarrassed. Erik sighed.

He lifted her swiftly off the drenched grass, mud covering her charming dress, her delicate hands and her precious face. _Oh, Christine._

Erik began walking toward the château. Christine snuggled against him, her hold around his neck becoming tighter.

"I'm here, too," he whispered. "I'm here, Christine. You're safe."

He felt her sobs against his chest and squeezed her strongly against him in return, a subtle reassurance that he was truly here.

*******

Christine clung to Erik as he brought her inside. She was disgusted with herself.

_You stupid, foolish woman, what were you thinking?_

"Bernard," she heard Erik's strong voice.

"Yes, monsieur," Bernard replied, quickly walking toward them. "Is she all right?"

"Yes, I think so. Will you please inform Capucine of our guest? Ask her to prepare the green bedroom, please, and a warm bath."

"Yes, of course, monsieur. It seems the young lady has also brought her own clothes. I shall bring them up to her room."

"Thank you, Bernard."

Bernard retrieved Christine's suitcase and hastily left them, ascending the grand staircase in the foyer.

They were alone.

Erik stood there for a long while, carefully holding her. Neither spoke, both too withdrawn to speak to another. They were completely soaked because of her foolishness and she wouldn't blame Erik whatsoever if he thought her to be an aggravating difficulty in his new, independent life.

Christine shivered as Erik suddenly held her closer to him and began walking toward the grand staircase.

She closed her eyes, reveling in his touch and embrace as he walked up the stairs. She never wanted him to let her go. She felt unbelievably safe in his arms.

"Monsieur Erik! Oh, you poor dear," came a sweet voice. "Is she all right, monsieur?"

Christine opened her eyes to discover herself in what she supposed to be the green bedroom. The young maid stood before them, concern in her eyes.

"Yes, Capucine, she's quite all right. Have you prepared the bath?"

"Oh, yes, monsieur. I shall have her bathed and freshly clothed immediately."

Erik nodded, laying Christine upon the bed. "Thank you, Capucine. And please see that she rests. I'm sure she has endured an exhausting journey."

Erik stood before her, never taking his eyes off her. Christine trembled as his eyes seemed to caress her very soul.

_Damn those beautiful amber eyes that will forever haunt my mind._

He gently touched her cheek then looked upon the now mud soaked bed. "And will you also change the sheets, Capucine," he asked kindly.

Capucine giggled. "Of course, monsieur, everything will be taken care of. Not to worry."

Erik smiled and turned toward Capucine. He pleasantly pinched her cheek. "Thank you."

He was gone.

Christine sat up on the bed, utterly mortified. "I'm sorry about all this."

The young maid smiled. She was very sweet looking with long blond hair and a petite figure, much smaller than her own. Her green eyes were most enchanting, and she was very young, too, perhaps no more than eighteen.

"I don't mind, mademoiselle." She walked toward her and grasped her hand. "You're even more beautiful than I imagined you to be."

Christine's eyes widened with disbelief.

Capucine simply giggled. "I'm glad you're here." She turned to a small room joined with the bedroom and walked toward it. "Now, how about this bath, it's most tempting, is it not?"

Christine smiled and followed Capucine to the adjoining room. Seeing the luxurious bath, she walked over to it and caressed the warm water with her hand. "Yes, yes it is."

"Don't worry, mademoiselle, everything will be all right." Capucine stood beside her. "It may take some time, but you must trust Monsieur Erik. He's a good man. He'd never hurt you."

Christine looked at her, puzzled. How much did this girl know?

Capucine smiled, understanding in her bright eyes. "I don't know everything. Just enough to know how much he cares for you, how much he needs you."

Christine laughed uneasily. "Let's hope you're right, Capucine. I truly hope you're right."

*******

Christine suddenly opened her eyes, the thunderous sound terrifying her. Looking over her shoulder at the window she sighed with resignation. _Just the storm, _she thought foolishly. _How could you have forgotten, Christine?_

She sat up and stretched her sore body. It'd been a long day.

After her bath, Capucine had brought her some lunch, which had been most delicious, then helped her to dress for bed.

As soon as her head fell upon the lush pillows Christine had fallen into a dreamless sleep.

Now, wide awake, dressed only in her chemise, she hastily rose from the bed and began to dress herself in a simple muslin gown.

She had to see him now.

Once dressed, she ran a brush through her hair and quickly left the room. She scampered down the hallway, abruptly stopping when she saw Bernard. She gasped.

"Oh, Mademoiselle Daaé, I'm very sorry. I hadn't meant to frighten you."

"It's all right, Bernard. You didn't. Could you please tell me where—"

"He's in the library, mademoiselle." He smiled holding out his arm to her, "if I may?"

"Yes, please." Christine pleasantly took his arm.

Completely absorbed in her frantic thoughts as Bernard led her to the library, she hadn't even realized they'd arrived.

"Here you are, mademoiselle."

Christine exhaled.

Bernard warmly smiled and patted her hand. "It'll be just fine. Trust him."

Christine shook her head, completely baffled.

"And how much do you know, Bernard?"

He smiled mischievously, "I know everything, my dear."

"So it would seem."

Bernard turned to leave. She was alone.

Christine stood in front of the closed door for a moment, petrified of crossing that final threshold.

She then drew in a long breath and opened it.

_I'm here now, Erik, and I'm not leaving you._


	16. Erik's Truth

_**Chapter Fifteen: Erik's Truth **_

Christine slowly entered the library. She gasped.

It was wondrous.

Dimly lit by a myriad of regal candelabra, Christine's immediate attention was drawn by the ebony colored grand piano that sat in the midst of the vast room. _How many pianos do you have, angel?_

The carved mantels and doorframes were made of walnut while the extravagant bookcases reflected the grace and sophistication of its owner. A fireplace was erected on the far side of the room with two plush red velvet chaise lounges and an elegant table before it, depicting a quaint sitting area.

Christine looked upon the ceiling, losing her breath, as she saw the majestic chandelier that was the room's main source of light. Its crystals and candles were glorious. Tears filled her eyes as she observed its magnificence. It was truly beautiful.

She began walking further into the room and noticed a rather large nook which was occupied by a small walnut table and plush red velvet chair with a charming oil lamp for a more private moment of reading. _How lovely,_ she thought, enchanted.

She abruptly stopped as her feet touched the ornate rug which covered the middle of the room. It was dark green with lavish illustrations, its color matching the delicately painted walls, which were also decorated with a multitude of classic baroque paintings.

_This man is truly an artistic genius._

Christine shivered as she recollected the vast majesty of his lair in the depths of the Paris Opera House, obviously a small reflection of the artistic intuition the musical genius was truly capable of.

_Oh, Erik, I have missed you and your beauty so incredibly much._

"Christine."

Christine jumped as she heard Erik's soft, intoxicating voice. He seemed dangerously close. She swiftly turned to find him standing before her.

She laid a hand over her chest. "You frightened me."

He bowed his head. "Forgive me."

"Of course," she breathed.

They stood there for a long moment, staring intently into another's eyes. Erik suddenly reached his hand out and carefully touched her face. Christine reached out to touch him in return but he quickly moved away. She felt a twinge of disappointment yet never took her eyes off him.

As she observed him she suddenly wondered what it had been like for him and Meg. She quietly sighed. Had he flinched when she first touched him? How long had it been for him to gain Meg's trust? Was Meg completely wrong in reading his thoughts and feelings? Perhaps Erik was happy with Meg. Perhaps he did need her. Perhaps he…_loved her._

_Then why would he leave her, you selfishly paranoid woman?_

Christine crossed her arms about her body, undesirably succumbing to her darkest insecurities. Was she truly jealous of the relationship Meg and Erik had? How close were they now? Were they still lovers?

_My God!_

Meg had _known_ Erik in a way Christine never had. Christine had only known him as the infamous Phantom of the Opera, as her deceitful Angel of Music. Meg had known the man.

Tears filled her eyes as she stubbornly shook her head, hating her jealously, her envy.

_Well, I'm here now, Erik. I just hope I'm not too late. _

She wiped her eyes, furtively hiding the tears she didn't wish for Erik to see. She continued watching him as he walked over to a cabinet she hadn't noticed before. It was an exquisitely carved liquor cabinet.

_Wonderful,_ she thought sardonically.

"Would you like anything to drink?" He asked, turning to face her once more.

She shook her head. "I'm fine, thank you."

Erik nodded then motioned for her to sit upon the red velvet chaise lounge. "Please."

She slowly walked toward it and sat. She was trembling.

Erik sat down on the chaise lounge opposite her. Christine felt a shred of discontent. _Oh, Erik, what have I done to you?_

They were silent.

After a moment she finally found the courage to speak. She drew in a long breath and cleared her throat. "So," she simply began. "How have you been keeping yourself, Erik?"

He stared at her for a while. His amber eyes seemed to burn right through her. She simply smiled.

He suddenly shook his head, clearly falling out of a trance. "I'm sorry. Forgive me."

"What is it?"

"You're here. I cannot believe it."

She warily looked away, suddenly shy.

"You must stay, at least until the bridge has been rebuilt—"

"I suppose I don't have a choice," she sweetly replied. "It would seem the bridge is the only means to your estate."

"Yes, well, I'm sorry for that—"

"I don't want a choice, Erik. I don't need a choice," she muttered, looking intently into his eyes. _Please, understand, angel. I want to be with you, want to stay with you!_

His eyes widened, his face puzzled.

Christine sighed. "Perhaps I shall have that drink."

Erik quickly stood from the chaise lounge and walked over to the liquor cabinet. He looked back at her.

"Wine would be nice," she kindly suggested.

"Yes, of course."

Christine anxiously began ruffling her dress as she heard Erik pouring the wine. She was extremely anxious. _You can do this, Christine, you must. You need him. You love him!_

"I wanted to thank you for earlier. I feel so foolish and quite the coward for what happened. I'm sorry for it."

"Think nothing of it, Christine."

He walked back toward her, handing her a glass of wine. "You aren't a fool. And you certainly aren't a coward. You're the bravest woman I know," he murmured.

She stared at him for a moment, disbelief in her eyes. Then timidly smiling she accepted the glass. "Thank you."

He smiled in return, sitting down once more. This time he sat down beside her. Christine secretly smiled to herself.

She sipped her wine, taking comfort in the newfound liquid courage. "Mmm, this is wonderful."

"I'm glad."

She smiled at him. "So—"

"Yes, yes! I'm sorry." He cleared his throat. "How have I been keeping myself?" He paused, looking at her fixedly. "I'm all right, Christine."

She laid her glass on the table then reached her hand out to lie upon his. "Truly, Erik, you're truly all right?"

"Truly," he declared, grasping her hand in return.

She smiled once more, tears filling her eyes. They continued to stare deeply into another's eyes, their silence echoing throughout the room.

But the moment ended quickly as it began as they hastily removed their hands from another's, uncertainty overcoming them.

He sighed and continued. "I owe my life to Berenice."

"Madame Giry," she asked shamefacedly. She had forgotten for a moment Madame Giry's first name_._

"Yes, Madame Giry. While I…lived…at the Opera House for all those years she took care of my assets."

"You mean the twenty thousand francs you received each month from the abundant of managers that maintained the Opera House throughout the years?" She giggled.

Erik tremulously smiled, clearly uncomfortable. "Yes, that."

"I'm sorry. Please, continue."

"It's all right, Christine."

She shivered. "This is much more difficult than I thought it'd be."

He reached over and caressed her cheek. "Me too," he plainly stated.

She laid her hand upon his. "Please, continue. I want to know."

"All right," he replied, taking both her hands in his and softly caressing them, his touch slowly becoming bolder.

"Because of Madame Giry graciously controlling my assets I was able to purchase this estate once I decided that I wished to pursue a life of complete independence. I've been very fortunate because of her."

"It's a lovely home, Erik."

"Thank you. I'm pleased you think so."

"My understanding is that you stayed with the Girys for a little less than a year sometime after…that night."

He nodded.

"It's because of them you found me," he quietly observed.

"Yes. I hope you aren't angry with them."

He paused, visibly thinking. "Quite the opposite, Christine," he softly murmured.

Christine blushed. She noticed a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

"I'm still a wanted man in Paris, which I'm sure you know. I rarely go into the city, and when I do I'm thoroughly disguised."

"Does that explain the seclusion of your estate?"

"Yes, it does. It explains Bernard, too."

Christine squeezed his hands. "I'm glad you have someone like Bernard. He seems very loyal and protective."

Erik smiled. "Not many know of my existence. Just the servants, and of course the Girys and the theater company I'm employed with, all very understanding and loyal to my desire to maintain a quiet life, a secret life, more importantly."

"Theater company?" Christine exclaimed.

"Oh, yes. It's wonderful, Christine. I'm very close with the manager of the company, and not because he's deathly afraid of me." He softly chuckled. Christine thought she heard a pang of regret.

"He's very loyal," he continued, "and completely trusting." He timidly looked away, sadness in his eyes. "He was there that night. He thinks it's one of the most fiercely passionate operas ever written. He has adamantly pleaded for my permission to allow his company to perform _Don Juan Triumphant_ one day." He sighed. "I've refused his request thus far. I don't know if I could bear it. It would surely exploit my existence. There is no doubt of that. I'm not ready for that risk." He looked fixedly at her. "And I only want one woman performing the role of Aminta."

Christine stared at him for a long while. "And I'd only want one man playing the role of Don Juan, Erik." She declared fervently.

He softly groaned but looked away from her. She lifted her wine glass and took a rather long drink. She then abruptly set it upon the table, suddenly aggravated. She stared keenly at him.

_What are you afraid of, angel? Tell me. Trust me!_

He shook his head in response to their unexpected bold statements, plainly dismissing anymore talk of his iniquitous opera, an opera he'd written for _her. _

"It is because of our mutual trust that allows me to write for his theater anonymously. It's astounding!" His voice became excited." I have met some wonderful people over these last few years because of the Girys. I'm forever grateful to them."

Christine lightly smiled. "They love you, Erik."

"Yes, I know." Tears filled his eyes but he quickly blinked them away. "It's because of them I know what requited love is."

Christine bit her lip. _And it's because of me you know what despair is._

She hastily stood up from the chaise lounge and walked toward a window, absentmindedly observing the stormy night.

They were silent for quite some time. Christine hadn't an idea where to begin. She had so much she wished to say to him yet couldn't find the courage to do it. She'd hoped the mention of his opera would have begun something. _Perhaps he isn't ready for this._

"I understand you and the Vicomte have annulled your marriage," Erik quietly spoke, breaking into her muddled thoughts.

She tensed. She certainly didn't wish to speak of this now.

"Yes," she replied, her voice shaking.

"I'm sorry to hear of it, Christine."

She sighed but didn't respond. _Sorry?_

"If you don't wish to speak of it—"

She shook her head. "You deserve to know, Erik."

"I don't deserve anything from you, Christine. Not after the despair I have brought into your life."

She turned toward him. "Oh, Erik," she spoke miserably. "Please don't say such things. We don't have to speak of him now."

Erik nodded. "I shouldn't have brought it up—"

"It's all right."

They looked intently at another, tears in their eyes once more. Christine turned back toward the window. _Perhaps it is I who isn't ready for this._

They were silent once more.

It was Erik who spoke first again, his words shattering and unexpected once more.

_And so it finally begins my angel._

"Why did you do it, Christine?" His soft yet serious voice seemed to echo throughout the suddenly small room.

Christine tensed. She knew exactly what he was speaking of and it certainly had nothing to do with her annulment to Raoul. Yet she truly wasn't sure if she was ready to discuss that heart wrenching night from all those years ago. _But you must!_

Suddenly, the gloomy night seemed a reflection of the emotions that were inescapably building inside her.

She turned to him. "What," she simply asked.

Erik rose from the chaise lounge. He was an incredibly intimidating man, purely because of his physique alone. He was much taller than she and the intensity of his masculine physique complimented the power of his entire being. He was a magnificently beautiful man, his light amber eyes burning through her soul.

He was one of perfection in Christine's mind, despite the deformity on the right side of his face that marred him imperfect and hideous in the eyes of society. It was this deformity that led to his wearing of the white leather mask on that side of his face. _A mask that has desolately defined him throughout his entire life_, she thought miserably.

He walked toward her and asked her once again. "Why, in front of all of Paris, did you tear my mask from my face that night of _Don Juan Triumphant_?" His voice sounded of a quiet desperation, of a subtle anger, an emotion that she'd become so familiar with over the past years. "Why, Christine, knowing that that moment would be my greatest humiliation and demise?"

Christine was silent for some time. She had absolutely no idea how to convey her thoughts, her feelings, to this man whom she felt so much for, as she wished she could, as she felt she truly could.

She turned back toward the window, unable to look into the hauntingly beautiful eyes of the man she'd so passionately longed for. His voice, his spirit, intimidated her enough. But those eyes had always been her weakness.

She finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I felt a myriad of emotions that night, Erik. Anger…fear…desperation…despair. I knew it was you on that stage with me. I was frightened. Not only of the eternal passion your voice and touch brought out in me, but of your ultimate doom once you would be found out. I…I had to save you!"

Her impassioned emotions finally took over, her soft and timid voice becoming more powerful. "I knew…I knew that if I had exposed you completely that you would go mad, that you would leave and…take me with you. It was the only way I knew how to protect you! They were going to kill you!"

She turned to him. Her voice had become more intense and desperate, angry, as she finished her bold admission, her sudden courage surprising herself. She was very much a woman now standing here in front of him and she needed him.

No longer was she the lost, lonely little girl he'd deceived for so many years, the lost young girl who couldn't handle his passion, his dark soul.

No longer was she afraid to speak the truth, to confront him…_to love him._

*******

Erik was terrified as he desperately listened to his impassioned angel. For what would happen if he was to lose her again after all these years? He'd found her some years ago at her _bal masqué, _and once more she had rejected him. But now she was here. _She_ had found him! He couldn't lose her again! He wouldn't lose her again! He needed her, loved her! _Oh, Christine._

She continued, never taking her eyes off him. "Yet, I hated you! Once again you deceived me, betrayed me on that very stage! In the very opera you had so passionately written for me! But I couldn't let them kill the beautiful man who gave me my voice, my very soul! I knew that if you took me with you they wouldn't have had that chance to…to kill you." She began choking on her words, completely distraught. "Raoul never would have allowed them to shoot you with me so close. It would have been too much of a risk on my life. I never would have thought you would have been so daring and foolish enough to join me on that stage knowing all of Paris was on the hunt for you!"

She moved closer to him, her voice becoming a passionate whisper, the same voice Erik had fallen in love with all those years ago. "Yet, despite everything, the betrayal I felt, your deception, I can never forget that passion, the passion that only you could emerge from the depths of my soul. Not only that night, Erik, but the night after my debut performance when you revealed yourself to me for that first time and abducted me to your lair…and seduced me with your music," she murmured, gazing into his frightened eyes.

"Christine." Erik reached his hand out to caress her cheek but she abruptly stepped back.

"No! I must say this! I have wanted to tell you for five long years how I have felt! Before, I was an innocent, naïve young child. I was utterly hopeless, lost…alone. Now, however, I am very much a young woman and we both deserve the truth! For years I truly thought you were the Angel of Music my father so fantastically spoke of when I was a young girl. You taught me so much throughout my years of loneliness. You were truly…the only friend I had ever known, except for Raoul, of course."

Erik flinched at the mention of his rival once more. Yet he knew that if he ever had the chance to be with Christine once again, whether as a lover or friend, he would have to let her speak. For what if she never forgave him? In his entire two and forty years he'd never been so incredibly petrified.

"You were all I had," she continued. "How could I have known that through it all, the years of growing and laughing and loving together through music, that you were a flesh and blood man? When you revealed yourself to me that night I was ecstatic, mesmerized and yet, reluctant. Not only were you a flesh and blood man, but you were the infamous opera ghost, the Phantom of the Opera! When you brought me down to your lair, to the depths of Hell itself it would seem to me sometime later, I didn't know what to think!"

She paused, clearly reflecting that erotic night, passion illuminating her hazel eyes. "So, I just felt and listened and became seduced, completely entranced by you! You intrigued me, terrified me! You were so very powerful with me! I wanted you…I desperately wanted you! In my mind we were two lost souls who were finally able to come together and become one, not only in music, but in mind, body and soul! You seduced me but I couldn't understand what I was feeling. It was all so incredibly overwhelming!" She began to cry, as if those haunting memories were too much to bear.

She looked up at him once more. "But I wanted you, Erik, with my entire being. That night I very much became a woman and I couldn't understand how…how my Angel of Music, no, the Phantom of the Opera, could bring out this wanton woman in me! I had never known nor felt such desire in my whole life. I was very much a woman that night, Erik." She uttered those final words softly. Erik had hardly heard them.

_Oh, Christine._

She was a woman that night and he had wanted her, no matter what it would take, he had to have her. How could he have been so incredibly foolish, so unbelievably selfish? Despite her being an impassioned woman that night she was still very much the lost and lonely girl trapped within, he'd just refused to see it.

She turned away from him and began pacing the candlelit room, her eyes becoming dark shadows, reflections of the dark truth they both wanted to forget, a dark truth that had inadvertently bound their souls together forever.

"Then the very next morning, the dream, the desire, ended." Her voice darkened with a disturbing anger that terrified him. "When my curiosity brought me to do the unthinkable act of ripping off your mask, it wasn't your face that terrified me as I had first thought, but your abrupt and dangerous reaction. You lashed out at me, yelled at me! I was just a young, innocent and confused girl, Erik! I hated you in that very moment yet I wanted to help you! I just wanted to hold you and…love you! I never wanted you to be lost and helpless like I had been throughout the years without my father. I just wanted to love you, to hope that you were everything I would ever want in life, but you never gave me that chance!"

She stopped pacing the room and turned toward him, her eyes displayed the very desire he remembered so well from the night he seduced her with his music. "You…I always wanted…you, Erik."

For what seemed an eternity they both stood facing another, neither daring to look away. She was incredibly beautiful in this moment. She loved him, she wanted to save him!

Yet Erik hated himself. Their entire relationship, whether it was one of a teacher and his student, a father to his daughter, a friend and companion, or perhaps even a lover to his one and only, had been one complete misunderstanding. Erik knew their myriad of relationships had been one false impression after another, a tremendous misapprehension that may have led to the permanent demise of their twisted and complicated love.

In the beginning he had only wanted to be that spirit, the Angel of Music, she had so desperately hoped would come to her and teach her the beauty of music. He'd been a father to a daughter, and a companion, while also being a teacher, a mentor. However, as the years went by and he found himself falling for the young woman she was becoming, Erik found himself wanting to become more than her friend, than her surrogate father. He wanted to be her lover, her soul. How could he possibly know that his budding love for the young soprano would possibly destroy them both?

Erik knew that this was the moment of truth. He knew he couldn't lose her again, he just couldn't!

Christine turned away from him. He walked toward her and placed his hands on her shoulders. He could feel her trembling. "Oh, Christine," he whispered in her ear.

Erik found himself trembling as well, fighting back the tears Christine seemed to be unable to withhold.

He drew in a deep breath. "That night when I first abducted you I was just as terrified, perhaps even more so. I had never known such feelings! I had never known passion and love until I found you, even if it had been unrequited," he murmured.

Christine flinched.

"I desperately wanted you! You had touched my soul, Christine!" He paused. "Yet, I didn't just desire your mind! I desired your body, your soul! I wanted everything from you. I knew I was being powerful with you. I knew how selfish I was being. I just…I just wanted you so damn much! I wanted the young, beautiful woman I knew you to be, with the angelic voice that I had fallen in love with." He paused once more, sighing. "I must admit that I had first fallen in love with your voice," he said with reluctance. _Forgive me, angel._

He was silent for some time, remembering that morning in his lair when she had ripped his mask from his face. He knew that that had been the defining moment in everything, the beginning of the terror, the confusion, everything horrific in their short lifetime together.

"Yet, that next morning after I had lashed out, after berating you, I found myself giving you my soul," he quietly continued. "I let you into my mind, revealing to you that despite living in Hell I truly wanted Heaven…with you. And in that very moment, the moment you courageously returned my mask, I fell in love with you, Christine. Not your voice or your beauty, but with you, Christine, the woman I had known and felt you'd become in that moment…in that night when I seduced you with my music, my soul…my body."

He slowly turned her to face him, tears streaming down her lovely cheeks. His eyes burned with his own. He lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. He wanted her to know he loved her still, that he'd always love her. He knew he was risking it all once again, but he wanted no more lies. He never wanted to hurt her again, to deceive her.

"That first night, all I wanted was to lay you down and make love to you," he ardently whispered. "I never meant to deceive you, to betray you…to hurt you. I love you, Christine. I love you so much it hurts. I love you more than my own life! I never meant to hurt you! I didn't know how to convey my love. I'm so sorry, my angel."

He looked deeply into her eyes knowing his longing for her reflected in his own. "All I knew was that I needed you. I still…need you."

Christine began sobbing and threw herself into his arms. He returned her embrace, wrapping his arms around her small waist with complete devotion. He never wanted to let her go.

"Oh, Erik," she whispered. "I have always loved you. I have always desired you…yet not as my Angel of Music or as the Phantom of the Opera, but as the flesh and blood man. Erik, you are very much a man and now…I am very much a woman. I may not understand everything of love and passion but I so would very much like to try."

She looked up into his eyes and caressed his masked cheek. "I love you, Erik," she whispered. "Make love to me, my beautiful man."

Erik gazed intently upon his angel. For years he'd dreamt of this moment. He was truly a flesh and blood man and she a flesh and blood woman. He'd always desired her, always loved her. No other living creature had ever possessed his heart, his soul, and he knew there'd never be another. He loved her with his entire being.

Tonight there would be no past, no future, just the present, an eternity, despite all that was still left unsaid. He began caressing her tear stained cheeks. Succumbing to the passion she alone stirred in him, he gazed into her invigorating eyes, innocent hazel eyes that bespoke of the passion she'd revealed only moments before. Of a passion that was without deception, a passion of complete truth.

Erik bent his head toward Christine, his lips lightly brushing against hers.

"Christine," he whispered, their souls becoming one in a passionate kiss.


	17. Love Me

_**Chapter Sixteen: Love Me**_

Erik bent his head toward Christine, his lips lightly brushing against hers.

"Christine," he whispered, their souls becoming one in a passionate kiss.

Christine trembled, Erik's soul-deep kiss intoxicating her senses.

She slid her hands up his heaving chest, wrapping her arms snugly around his neck, raking her fingers through his silky hair.

Erik groaned. He wound his arms about her lithe waist pressing her against his pulsating hardness.

They stood there for a long while, reveling in another's touch, Erik's tongue swirling in Christine's mouth, thrusting in and out. She moaned as his tongue ravished her, tasting her.

He slowly began walking her back toward what she presumed to be the chaise lounge. Yet her hazy mind hadn't realized that he'd had a very different location in mind.

She whimpered as she felt the curve of the grand piano against her back.

She hastily opened her eyes as Erik gently broke their kiss. His golden amber eyes bore into her, his breathing deepening as he cupped her face. "Christine," he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers. "I love you, my angel."

"I love you, Erik," she whispered, stroking his arms. "I'm yours."

Erik trembled. He tenderly pushed her long brown tresses aside and kissed her neck. Christine dropped her head back, her body arching against his, yearning for his hungry kisses, his possessing touch.

"I need you, Christine."

"Oh, yes, Erik. I'm here."

He lifted her off the ground, sitting her upon the piano. He lifted her dress above her knees, standing between her slightly parted thighs. He stroked her legs, covered by her stockings, letting his hands lay upon the flushed skin of her exposed thighs. Christine leaned back on her elbows, eagerly watching him, as she wrapped her legs around his hips. Erik breathed deeply.

"I want to see you, Erik."

She reached her hand out and cupped his cheek. He leaned into her touch, wounding his arms around her. He laid his head upon her breasts. Christine shivered with desire, knowing he could feel her heart pounding.

"Trust me," she whispered, kissing his forehead.

He slightly pulled away, looking into her eyes. He swallowed hard.

He remained silent for some time.

"Erik?"

He grasped her face between his deft hands and kissed her softly. He then swiftly lifted her off the piano into his strong arms. He began leaving the room. Christine stared at him perplexedly.

Erik tremulously smiled, kissing her shoulder. "I have wanted you in my bed since the moment I first desired you." He gingerly chuckled. "The piano can wait, my lovely. We do have the rest of our lives."

Christine grinned. She leaned into him and nibbled his ear. "I suppose your music and my body writhing beneath you are too much to manage, hmm?" She purred.

She felt Erik shudder. His grip tightened about her as he gracefully mounted the stairs.

Christine hadn't even noticed they were already in the foyer, too enraptured with him. She was burning for him.

"It seems someone cannot wait," he growled.

Christine seductively giggled. She slipped her hand between them, grasping his throbbing member. "I'm not the only one, love."

Erik groaned. "I will have you lying enticingly upon my music, my beauty, with you _screaming_ beneath me, begging for my touch. Now, I just want you, only you."

Christine anxiously wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning her forehead against his unmasked cheek. "Hurry, Erik."

Erik's pace quickened with her subtly demanding words.

Their destination finally achieved, she reached her arm out and opened the door to what she hoped to be his bedroom.

It was.

Christine gasped as Erik slid her against his powerful body, setting her down. He shut and locked the door.

"Oh, Erik," she breathlessly whispered, as she observed his vast room, dimly lit by the moonlight. "It's magnificent."

She heard Erik softly laugh then felt his nimble fingers upon her. She shivered as he caressed her nape. She turned to him, tears in her eyes. He lifted her hand and kissed it, then suavely bowed to her. She smiled as he went about the room lighting the myriad of candelabra.

An unlit fireplace stood at the far end of the room, two velvet green chaise lounges before it, an elegant table between them. There was yet another grand piano in a far corner of the room, a vast window behind it.

The overwhelming window was the source of the evening's glorious moonlight as Christine noticed the drapes pulled back. A long bench decorated with satin pillows was erected underneath the window, an end table beside it, covered with what Christine believed to be several pages of music.

She smiled, wrapping her arms about her suddenly chilled body as she thought of Erik zealously composing his erotically impassioned music in this very room.

She looked above her to find two opulent chandeliers, both much grander than the one in the library. She peered deeper within the room as Erik slowly illuminated it and saw French doors leading out to what she presumed to be a balcony, another door which must lead to his dressing room, plush carpets, and grand walls graced with classic paintings. It was luxurious.

Then her glittering eyes fell upon Erik's bed. _A rather large bed,_ she thought, blushing.

Christine drew in a deep breath as she hypnotically walked toward the incredibly daunting four-poster bed. She caressed it with her hand, trembling as she felt the midnight black, soft, silky sheets beneath her. Her eyes widened as she noticed the small steps erected in front of it. She believed Erik could easily lie upon the bed without the need of the steps, but as for her…

Christine shuddered with starved invitation then softly gasped as she felt Erik's arms wrap around her from behind. He kissed her nape. She laid her hands upon his wrists.

"No second thoughts?" He gently asked, caressing her hands.

Christine shook her head, leaning against him. She wound her arms behind him, rubbing his back. "Never," she murmured.

She turned her head as he cupped her chin. He softly kissed her.

After some time, she turned to face him completely, his heated flesh hard against her stomach.

"Christine," he groaned, "I do want you to see all of me—"

"Don't be afraid, Erik." She looked deeply into his eyes, tenderly laying her hand on his masked cheek.

He stared fixedly into her eyes. His own eyes fevered with intense passion. He slowly nodded.

He then gradually took a step back, never taking his eyes off her.

She smiled, hoping to ease his darkest fears. She knew this moment went beyond the scars upon his face, upon his soul. It was so much more. They were to finally become one. After years of longing and wanting, of fear and love, of devote desire, they were to finally become one.

He reached out and laid his hand upon her cheek. She leaned into him, gently kissing it.

Erik tremulously smiled then pulled his hand away and lifted his shirt over his head, letting it drop in a pool of white cloth upon the floor.

Christine forgot to breath. He was even more beautiful than she'd imagined.

She slowly stood before him, laying her hand upon his magnificently sculpted stomach. Erik groaned. She seductively slid her hand upon his velvety skin, resting it upon his muscled chest. She could feel his heart racing.

Erik closed his eyes and leaned his head back as she laid her cheek upon him. "I feel your heart," she softly murmured.

He laid his hands upon her shoulders, gently kneading them. "Oh, Christine," he whispered.

"Shh, Erik, let me touch you. Let me feel you, my beautiful man."

She kissed his quivering chest, letting herself succumb to her deepest desires. She looked up into his eyes. "How I have longed for you, angel," she tremulously declared.

Erik wrapped his arms about her body.

After a moment, she lightly pulled away from his warm embrace, and caressed his chest once more. She then laid her hands upon his broad shoulders as she kissed his throat.

She continued her sweet kisses upon his elegant body, kissing his arms, his hands, his chest. She kissed his dark nipples, his navel. Erik groaned.

She slowly began to circle him. She sensuously slid her hands upon his nude back.

Christine suddenly stopped. She felt Erik immediately tense.

"Erik!" She gasped.

He hastily pulled away from her, turning to face her, but she firmly grasped his wrists, stopping him. "Erik, please."

He miserably sighed. "Christine, I—"

"Hush, my love." She spoke quietly as she laid her hands upon his lips.

She then slowly walked behind him once more. Tears filled her eyes as she looked upon the scars that devoured his flesh. The myriad of intertwining scars covered his back from shoulders to hips. Christine shivered. Someone had seriously flogged him, beaten him to the point of pure, obsessive brutality. She found it hard to believe he had even survived it.

_My beautiful man, what terror has your lost soul come to know? _.

"Erik, who did this to you," she softly asked, her voice shaking.

"No, Christine. I don't wish for any more of my darkness to touch you."

Christine shook her head. She tremulously touched him.

Erik flinched.

She slid her fingers upon each individual scar. She began to count them but wretchedly came to realize that there were too many to remember. Tears streamed down her face as she felt Erik tremble beneath her touch. She knew he was crying. _How could you not, my angel?_

She continued tenderly caressing his back then boldly laid her face upon him. Erik softly moaned, yet she couldn't sense if it were with pleasure or pain.

She kissed him. His breathing deepened as she slowly kissed his scars, her tears falling upon his back, her hands gently stroking him.

"Oh, Erik," she softly whispered.

"I don't repulse you?"

"No, of course not," she exclaimed incredulously.

She grasped his shoulder, turning him to face her. "Tell me, Erik. Tell me who did this to you. Please."

He cupped her face and bent his head to kiss her tear stained cheeks. "Don't cry for me, angel. Please, no more tears."

She sobbed, throwing herself into his arms. "I'm so sorry, Erik."

Erik wept as he strongly wrapped his arms around her in return.

"Tell me," she cried.

He slightly pulled away from her, running his hand through her hair. He nodded, pulling her closer against him, her head lying against his chest.

"Before I lived beneath the Paris Opera House I was the…main attraction for a traveling carnival."

Christine winced, understanding what he meant as "the main attraction." She held him tighter.

He caressed her back and continued. "I was quite young when they found me, when they…captured me." He swallowed hard. "They had me locked in a cage, Christine! It was awful! In the beginning I did all I could to escape! I disobeyed, I fought back! But they were ruthless," he murmured. "They forced me to wear a sack over my head." He scoffed. "They said it was meant to build the anticipation for the obliging audience."

"The morbidly sick and twisted audience," Christine whispered. She caressed his back, offering him her comfort. _I'm here, angel._

He cleared his throat. "Yes." He paused. "Then, after years of their cruel exploitation night after night, I found myself becoming numb to it. I wanted to die, Christine! Every night they'd slip that fucking sack off my face and beat me for entertainment! I wanted to die!"

Christine sobbed as Erik continued his dreadful revelation. She thought she was going to be sick. "Angel," she wept.

"I had fought it in the beginning, I truly did, but soon I felt nothing. I could no longer feel the leather whip upon me. I could no longer hear the sinister laughter of those who surrounded the cage, the amused laughter! All I hoped was that this time I would die, that the man who owned the carnival and beat me night after night would kill me!"

He roared falling helplessly to the floor, furtively wrapping his arms around her waist. "Oh, Christine, help me, save me! I need you!"

Christine sat upon the floor, heartily caressing his chest, his shoulders, his face. "I'm here, Erik. I'm here, love. Shh, it's all right. You aren't alone any longer! You're safe. I won't let any harm come to you again! I promise you, my darling man!"

"Hold me, Christine, and don't let me go," he sobbed.

"Never," she fervently murmured. "I'm here."

Tears streamed down Christine's face as she held him. He was uncontrollably shaking. Christine couldn't bear it.

"It was Berenice." Christine heard him say through his muffled cries after some time. She softly pulled away and looked into his sad eyes.

"What, my love?" She wiped the tears from his unmasked cheek.

"She saved me, Christine. While the carnival was in Paris she and the corps de ballet was there one night, and she saved me," he whispered. Christine could barely hear him.

He looked intently into her tear filled eyes, abruptly grabbing her shoulders. "I killed him, Christine! I killed him that night once everyone had gone! But Berenice had stayed behind and saved me! I killed him! That was the first time I had ever murdered!" He roared. "And I still wonder to this very day if it was justified!"

"Oh, God, Erik, yes it was justified! My God, Erik, how could you possibly think otherwise? Oh, my love," she cried, embracing him once more.

"Christine," he sobbed.

They sat on the floor for a long while holding another, both weeping.

"I need you, Christine," he finally whispered. "I need you."

Christine shook her head, knowing what he truly meant. "Erik, perhaps you should rest, love. I won't leave you. I'll stay by your side—"

"No," he vigorously declared, grasping her face in his hands. "I need your love to save me, to heal me, Christine. Love me, angel. Love me."

He passionately kissed her, Christine too helpless to resist his consuming kiss. She raked her hands through his dark hair, pressing him roughly against her. He grasped her shoulders, kneading them.

"Christine," he murmured after a moment.

He stood then, giving her his hand, helping her to her feet. They embraced another. She could feel his heart racing.

"Are you sure, Erik?"

"I'm sure."

Christine looked into his eyes and held back a gasp as she saw the fiery passion within them.

He stepped back and began slowly untying his breeches. Christine breathed deeply. He laid his hand upon her face in reassurance then slipped his breeches off, benevolently stepping out of them.

Christine softly gasped as he stood there in all his glorious nakedness, his pulsating flesh strong against his belly, flesh she'd become fairly familiar with the night he seduced her with his dark music beneath the Opera House, though she hadn't understood then.

But she understood now and he was quite intimidating.

_A dark god,_ she thought blissfully.

She wanted him.

Christine reached out to him, grasping his satin manhood in her delicate hand.

Erik groaned but stopped her, laying his hand upon hers. "Let me see you, Christine."

She pulled her hand away, staring into his feverish amber eyes.

He walked behind her. She lifted her curls in her hands as he began to unlace her dress. She sighed, thankful she'd slipped into a simple gown earlier this evening when she'd awoken from her dreamless slumber. She didn't wish to delay his musician's hands upon her naked flesh any longer than possible, and an intricately made gown certainly would have.

"Oh, Erik, touch me." Christine trembled as he slipped his hands inside her open gown, grasping her breasts. She moaned. His touch upon her bare skin was pure pleasure.

He deftly slipped the gown off her shoulders, letting it fall upon the floor beneath their heated bodies. She felt him kneel behind her, his hands caressing her stomach and waist, her hips, as he seductively traveled down her body. He kissed the small of her back. Christine sighed.

"Christine, my lovely, you are so beautiful. I love you."

"I love you, Erik, my beloved man."

He carefully lifted her foot as he slowly slipped her stocking off her leg, kissing his way down her body. He then kissed her thigh as he began his erotic journey down her other leg, sensuously slipping off the remaining stocking.

He then turned her to face him, cupping her breasts once more. He kissed them both.

Christine laid her hand upon his masked cheek as he kissed her stomach.

"Erik," she breathed. "Please."

He looked deeply into her eyes for a long while, complete understanding in his own. He nodded.

She slowly lifted his mask from upon his deformed cheek, letting it drop upon the floor.

Tears filled his eyes.

She sat before him, her hands never leaving his face, her eyes never leaving his. "You're beautiful, Erik." She kissed his deformed flesh. "I love you."

She heard him silently weeping as she continued her sweet kisses upon his flesh. She felt his tears on her hands.

"I love you," she whispered once more.

He kissed her forehead. "I love you, Christine."

They stood together then. Erik linked his hands with hers then bent his head to kiss her soft lips. They stood like that for some time, completely naked, their souls bared, holding hands. Their exploratory kisses slowly becoming bolder.

Erik nibbled her bottom lip as he broke the kiss. Christine sighed.

"Are you ready, my love?" He softly asked

"Oh, yes."

Erik smiled as he walked her up the steps and sat her on the edge of the bed. He kneeled down before her on the steps.

"Aren't you going to join me?" Christine sweetly asked.

He wickedly smiled and pressed his hand upon her belly. "Lay back."

She stared at him questioningly.

"Lay back," he softly demanded. He pressed his lips upon her ear when she still sat there. "Trust me, Christine."

Her eyes widened. "I trust you," she declared.

Erik gently pressed her down upon the bed and deftly spread her legs upon the steps.

"Oh, God," she moaned as he kissed her sensitive threshold, his clever tongue flicking and sucking her rigid numb. She clenched the silky sheets, biting her lip.

She moaned with tormented ecstasy as he slipped two long fingers inside her, opening her yearning liquid passage further, his tongue delving deeper inside her. Christine raked her hands through his hair, her back arching.

"Erik, please," she panted.

He chuckled. She sighed deeply as she felt the vibration of his laugh against her, his wet, hot mouth unbearable.

"You had better wait for me, love," he seductively growled, nibbling her inflamed nub.

"I don't know if I can," she breathed. "Oh, God, Erik, please. Don't stop." She began roughly caressing his luscious hair."

He lightly grasped her leg and laid it upon his shoulder. Christine shuddered as he kissed her deeper. "Erik, please, I think I'll die."

"You won't. I promise." He groaned.

Erik continued his tantalizing caress on her hardened jewel with his fingers as he kissed and nibbled the inside of her thighs.

He then leaned over her, his eyes upon her. He kissed her stomach. "Christine," he murmured.

Christine hooked her leg around his back as he simultaneously wrapped his arm around her waist, sliding her into the middle of their erotic sanctuary of tormenting bliss.

"Erik," she breathed as he lay upon her, his strong weight an agonizing aphrodisiac, his artistic fingers still gliding in and out of her wet threshold.

"Angel," he panted. He kissed her breast, suckling it.

Christine thrust her hands in his tousled hair. "Please, Erik. I need you. I want you inside me." She wrapped her legs around his hips. "Now, Erik."

He smiled, taking her other breast in his mouth.

"Mmm," she moaned. She grasped his hardened flesh in her hand. "Erik," she breathed.

He groaned, pulling away from her breast. He kissed her throat as she began stroking him. "Oh, Christine, my beauty, I need you, too."

Erik removed his tormenting fingers from her silken crevice, his hand slick with her dew. He wrapped his hand around hers upon his heated flesh, lubricating himself with her sweet nectar.

He lifted himself above her on his hands and guided his pulsating shaft to her sacred threshold. She moaned as she felt the tip of him upon her. He slowly teased her with soft, provocative stokes.

"Oh, God, Erik, please," she pleaded breathlessly. She grasped him, forcing him inside her. "I want you."

He softly laughed, kissing the valley between her breasts. He lowered himself upon her yearning passage, removing his engorged flesh, his tongue possessing her once more. She breathed deeply, arching her back, her breasts pressed against his sweat drenched chest.

"Erik," she begged. "Damn you," she whispered. She was on the sheerest edge of pleasure. She couldn't wait any longer.

"You must wait, love," he growled, as if he could hear her thoughts. "I want you dripping with my touch."

She moaned as he raised above her once more, slipping the tip of his erotic hardness inside her. She grasped his buttocks in sweet demand. "Erik," she panted.

"Christine," he murmured as he entered her completely.

They were one.

"Oh, Erik," she moaned.

"I love you, Christine."

"I know, Erik. I love you, too."

He lay upon her, grasping her face between his hands. He softly kissed her.

He remained still inside her for a long while, both savoring the feel of another. Her liquid core was tight around him, his pulsating flesh deep within her. It was divine.

Erik lifted himself above her and began moving inside her. Christine wrapped her legs tighter about him as she slipped her hands behind his neck, her hands caressing his tousled hair.

Christine arched against him, their dewy sweat slick between them, it was intoxicating. Erik's thrusts quickened as she raked her hands down his scarred back, pleading for more.

"Erik," she moaned. "Oh, God, it's so beautiful to feel you inside me."

"Christine," he growled. Christine sensed the pleasure-pain in his raspy voice.

She gasped as he thrust his throbbing member deeper inside her.

He gently grasped her face, his smoldering gaze upon her. "Christine," he groaned. "I want to see you. Come for me, angel."

"Erik," she breathed, as he pulsed inside her.

He leaned his forehead against hers.

Christine moaned as his thrusts quickened, both on the edge of climax. Christine wondered if he could be any deeper inside her.

She clung to him as he wrapped his arms beneath her, her breasts chaffing against his muscled chest.

"Oh, God, Christine," Erik groaned.

Christine cried out as she reached her shattering climax, screaming with complete release. Erik moaned as he spilled his essence in her love slicked passage, his throbbing member weeping inside her.

He fell upon her, both breathing heavily. He lightly kissed her breast. Christine caressed his shoulders in acknowledgement, thoroughly spent.

"I love you, Christine," she heard him breath.

She wrapped her arms around his back. "I love you, Erik."

They soon fell into a deep sleep, their bodies still entwined, their souls eternally one.


	18. Dark Seduction

_**Chapter Seventeen: Dark Seduction **_

Christine smiled sweetly as she awoke to Erik's soft kisses upon her body.

"Mmm," she moaned with approval, laying her hands in his dark hair. "That feels wonderful."

Erik chuckled. He kissed the soft plane between her breasts then maneuvered his soft lips to her bare stomach, softly kissing it, his hands seductively caressing her hips as he continued his possessing kisses. Christine fell into a trance.

It had been one blissful week since she'd found him, and they'd hardly gotten out of bed since. She smiled to herself at the thought. Erik had been a most attentive lover and she'd been unable to resist his passion.

Christine gasped as he kissed the inside of her thighs, his fervent assault on her body intruding her pleasant thoughts.

_God, I love this man._

His devotion touched her. His voice, his soul, his beauty, how had she ever been able to live without him all these years?

They'd first quarreled when she returned to him. That had been inevitable. And they still had much to say to another.

For instance, he hadn't told her of Meg. But she knew that he would. She trusted him to tell her when the time was right, when he was ready. She knew he was scared to hurt her, terrified she'd leave him again. No matter. _She_ still had much to say to him, too.

But for now it was just the two of them in their eternal world of music and love and passion.

She sighed as he tenderly kissed her legs, her ankles, her feet, before he began is erotically tormenting journey upon her body once more.

He kissed her stomach again as Christine slipped her hands beneath his strong arms, stroking his scarred back.

Erik looked up into her eyes, his chin on her stomach. "Good morning, _ma belle._"

Christine smiled. "Good morning, _mon âme._"

He leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. "_Mon âme,_" he repeated, drawing imaginary circles on her chest with his fingers. "You are my soul, too, Christine."

They stared into another's eyes for a long moment.

Christine laid her hand on his deformed cheek. Erik kissed her on the forehead then began his soft kisses upon her body once more.

He kissed her breast, causing Christine to succumb completely to an everlasting oblivion she hadn't known until him. Taking her into his sweet mouth, she grasped his shoulders, pulling him toward her. Erik groaned, laying his hand on her other breast.

Christine arched her back as he kissed her other breast, his hand traveling down her stomach. "Erik," she gasped as he slipped two fingers inside her yearning passage.

Erik licked her nipple then lifted his head to look into her eyes. "Yes, it is indeed a good morning." He smiled lasciviously.

"You are a roguish man."

He bent his head once more, a smile still upon his lips. He licked her navel with his smooth tongue, his fingers deftly stroking her to madness. She moaned as he began kissing the inside of her thighs once more, lightly biting her. Christine slid her hands down his back, grasping his buttocks. Erik groaned.

Christine whimpered, reveling in his touch, when she suddenly heard hasty footsteps coming down the hall, an argument evident between two stifled voices. She recognized one of the voices as belonging to Bernard and the other to…a woman?

"Madame," she heard Bernard's frustrated voice through the closed doors. "Madame, you cannot—"

"Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do!"

Christine felt Erik tense. He looked up at her then the door as it swung open, an enraged woman standing before them. Erik jumped from Christine, throwing the bed sheets upon her naked body.

Christine observed the livid woman intently. She seemed to be in her mid-thirties, and her fiery red hair along with her rather tall physique paralleled her fuming person quite dauntingly. Her eyes blazed a color blue Christine had never seen before and her full bosom and comely figure enhanced Christine's insecurity over her less endowed figure. She was well dressed, though quite a bit scandalously, in a red gown with a bodice that almost exposed her breasts completely.

_She's beautiful, _Christine thought agonizingly.

"Geneviève," Erik yelled, as he yanked his black dressing gown around his nude body, "what the hell are you doing here?"

"What am _I _doing here," she screamed. She furiously pointed at Christine. "What the hell is _she_ doing here?"

Christine held the sheet modestly to her breasts, utterly confused and completely brokenhearted. _Was this his lover?_ She trembled at the thought.

"Geneviève, damn it, get out—"

"No, Erik! You fucking son of a bitch! I am your _wife!_"

"Wife," Christine gasped.

Erik visibly tensed, clenching his fists.

Geneviève crossed her arms. "Yes, I am his wife! And you are nothing but a whore!"

"Damn it, Geneviève! How dare you speak to her with such vulgarity, how dare you speak to her at all!" Erik rounded on her. "I want you out of here!"

He roughly grabbed Geneviève by the arm as a shaken Christine emerged from the bed, slipping her chemise over her head.

"I think it'd be better if I was the one to go, Erik. Geneviève, you stay. You are his _wife,_ while it appears I'm nothing more than his _whore,_" she said through clenched teeth.

Christine reached for her dressing gown, but Erik stopped her, grasping her wrist. "No, Christine, please, don't go. Stay. You're everything to me. You know this. Let me explain—"

"Yes, Christine," Geneviève mocked, "please, stay. I'd love to hear what our enigmatic genius has to say about this. After all, I know damn well who you are—"

"Geneviève," Erik bellowed as he grabbed her by the arm once more, "you are leaving." He turned to Christine. "Please, Christine, don't go. I'll see her out. I'll tell you everything."

Christine stared into his amber eyes. There was anger and remorse in them. _Damn those eyes!_

She looked down at the floor, unable to bear those pleading eyes. "I don't know if I want to hear what you have to say, Erik."

Geneviève sneered at her while Erik walked over to her, gently lifting her chin. "Please, Christine."

She pulled away from him, wrapping her arms about her suddenly frigid body.

Erik sighed, rubbing his hands upon his face…his unmasked face!

_My God, he's allowed this woman to see his face! She doesn't seem shocked by it. She must have seen it before. _

_He must really…love her!_

Christine began to cry, falling onto the bed, her thoughts painful. She hadn't even realized Erik and Geneviève had left the room until she heard their muffled shouting downstairs through the closed door.

Tears streamed down her face. What had she been thinking? How could she have so naively believed that she'd come back into his life and expect everything to be perfect, to be deliriously blissful?

"It was a mistake coming here," she whispered.

She stood up from the bed and tied her dressing gown about her body, determined to leave before he returned.

She was too late. She stepped further away into the room as she heard Erik's swift footsteps coming down the hall.

_I must leave him again! I don't think I can, but I must! A wife, Erik, damn you for deceiving me once more!_

She flinched as he roughly opened the door and slammed it. He leaned his arm against it, breathing heavily, his back to her.

Christine was on the attack.

"You bastard," she screamed, walking toward him. She grabbed his shoulder and swung him around to face her. "You deceived me! How could you?" She began punching his chest. "Damn you!"

"Christine," he hopelessly pleaded, grasping her shoulders, shaking her. "Listen to me! Please, let me explain!"

"Explain? You have a wife, Erik!" She shoved him against the door. "This entire week has been a lie!" She scoffed. "My God, I'm your mistress! I'm having an affair with a married man!" She screamed. "You fucking liar!"

She abruptly turned away from him. Erik roughly grabbed her shoulders. Turning her to face him, he quickly bent his head and kissed her hard on the lips, bruising them.

Christine desperately pushed against his chest. Unable to attain his surrender, she bit his lip, drawing blood.

Erik pulled away, raising his hand to his bloody lip. She slapped him.

"You little bitch!" Erik roared. He abrasively lifted her off the ground.

"Let me go! I'm leaving you! I won't succumb to your lies again!" She began punching his back. "Put me down!"

Erik promptly walked over to the bed, dropping her upon it, immediately lying on top of her, nudging his knees between her legs, fiercely spreading them upon the bed. He grabbed her wrists, laying them above her head, his strong hand holding them against the bed.

"Erik! Stop! You're hurting me!" Christine whimpered, her thighs lying flat upon the bed as Erik pressed his powerful body against her, her bound hands powerless to stop him.

She was his prisoner. Yet she didn't believe Erik would truly hurt her. Still, his threatening passion was undeniable, and slightly terrifying.

"You'll listen to me, damn it! You're not going anywhere! I won't let you leave me again! You're mine!"

"No! Geneviève is yours! She is your wife! I'm nothing but your whore!"

"No, damn it!" He let out a grunt of frustration. "Shut up!" Erik bent his head once more and kissed her.

Christine turned her head away but Erik was quicker. He grabbed her face between his hands, continuing his painful kisses upon her lips, her face. She pushed against his shoulders.

He was relentless.

Yet she wouldn't give up. She slipped her hands inside his loose dressing gown, clawing his chest and shoulders, feeling his skin tear beneath her nails.

Erik pulled away. "Damn you, Christine!" He roared.

"Liar," she screamed.

He tore her dressing gown and chemise, exposing her breasts. He began furiously kneading them. He bent his head to her ear. "You're not leaving me," he growled. "You need me too damn much. You know it."

Christine groaned.

Realizing she was succumbing to his bold touch, Christine sunk her nails into him harder. "I don't need you," she declared, fighting back.

She refused to submit to him, to allow him to see the truth. She did need him.

Erik bit her earlobe. "Fool."

Still caressing one of her breasts, Erik slid his other hand down her stomach.

Christine grabbed his wrist. "Don't. Touch. Me." She murmured through clenched teeth.

Erik laughed at her.

Furious, Christine began punching his chest once more.

Erik grabbed her by the shoulders, roughly pulling her against him. "I don't love her, Christine! Only you! I have always loved you and no one else! I swear to you! I swear to all that is good!"

"I don't believe you! Get off me!"

"No! Not until you listen!"

"Whatever you say, Erik, I won't believe you! My entire life you've deceived me! I won't ever believe you! You're a liar and I hate you!"

"You hate me?" He despairingly asked.

Clearly taken aback by her words, his body gone limp, Christine used the distraction to push him off her. She jumped from the bed and ran from him.

"No!" He grabbed her waist, pulling her back against his bare chest.

She gasped. His dressing gown had fallen open. She could feel his engorged flesh against her bottom. She desperately held back a moan.

"Feel what you do to me, Christine."

He wrapped his arm tightly around her waist, his other arm wrapped brazenly around her chest, his hand cupping her breast. He slipped two fingers inside her. "Feel what I do to you, my angel_,_ so wet for me, so very ready," he whispered fervently in her ear. "You cannot deny me, Christine. You won't leave me."

She drew in a long breath. _No, I won't. _

"I am leaving you," she said aloud. "I won't listen to your lies." She gasped as he unexpectedly opened his fingers inside her, pressing deeper within her liquid core.

Erik chuckled. "Now it is I who doesn't believe you, my lovely." He squeezed her breast. "I don't love her, I never have." Christine tried to pull away. "No, damn it! Listen to me. She may be my wife, Christine, but you are my soul."

Christine shook her head. "No."

"Fine," he growled. "Let me show you."

He began pleasuring her ruthlessly. His touch was unbearable inside her, her thighs drenched with her evidence of wanting, her nipples taught from his vigorous caresses.

"Stop it," she breathlessly demanded.

"I don't think so, _ma chère._"

He grasped her face, forcing her lips to his, passionately kissing her. Christine grabbed his head, pulling his hair.

"Christine!" He removed his fingers from her slick threshold, pulling away from her body, running a hand through his hair. "Stop this madness!"

Christine suddenly pushed him on the bed, straddling him. "I am leaving you, Erik" she calmly declared, purposely pressing her breasts against his sweat drenched chest.

He grasped her bottom, pressing her against his erection. "You aren't going anywhere."

Erik tore her dressing gown from her body then lifted her ripped chemise over her head. Christine bit his chest, her hands grasping his own gown. He lifted his body off the bed as she hurriedly removed it.

She boldly took his inflamed flesh in her hands. "You need me, Erik, more than I'll ever need you." She saw him slightly flinch. She began stroking him. "I don't need you."

Erik took her face in his hands. "I don't need you, either, Christine."

Christine squeezed him. Erik groaned.

"I don't believe you," she murmured.

She began kissing her way down his chest. Erik moaned, caressing her back with his hands. She daringly kissed his thick member, her tongue brazenly licking him.

"No," Erik breathed, taking her wrists and pulling her upon him, their eyes boring into another. "I want to be inside you, now."

"Oh, Erik, my foolish love," she replied scathingly, stroking him once more. "_I'm_ going to take you until you're burning for me, _pleading_ for more. Then," she sighed, grasping him once more, "I'm going to leave you—"

Erik rolled her beneath him. "I love you, damn it!" He kissed her furiously then, Christine wrapping her arms around his neck. He laid his hands between her thighs, stroking her liquid fire once more.

"Erik!" She gasped.

"Yes, _ma voix,_ tell me you need me. Tell me you love me."

"Never," she moaned unconvincingly.

Erik abruptly pulled away from her. Standing before her, he lifted her from the bed. He swiftly walked to his dressing room, placing her in front of his majestic mirror. He stood dangerously close behind her.

"See how you glow, my love. See how _you_ burn for me." He slipped his fingers inside her once more. She closed her eyes, leaning against him. "You won't leave me, Christine. You can't leave me. You belong to me. And I belong to you."

"Oh, God," she breathed.

Erik groaned, suddenly grabbing her waist with his free arm, and daringly pushing her against the wall next to the mirror. Her cheek and breasts were flat against it. Erik's aroused body seductively pressed against hers. She gasped as she felt his satin flesh against her bottom.

"You're mine," he whispered as he entered her dripping passage from behind. "You know I possess your very soul." He bit her shoulder as he began thrusting inside her.

Christine sighed, writhing against him. "Yes, Erik, I'm yours," she admitted, utterly defeated. She laid her hands against the wall, bracing herself. Erik laid his hands upon hers.

"I love you, Christine."

"God, I know, Erik. I know."

"Say it, Christine. Say you love me. I want to hear you say it."

She moaned. "I love you, Erik. I need you."

Erik kissed her exposed cheek. "Don't leave me."

"Never," she breathed. "I'll never leave you."

He leaned his head against her cheek, their aggressive lovemaking becoming sweet and tender.

Erik groaned. "I don't think I can last, Christine. I need you so much," he admitted after a moment.

She tremulously smiled. "It's all right. I want you to finish. Come for me, Erik."

"Not without you, my love," he feverishly whispered.

Erik slipped his hand in front of her, caressing her rigid nub.

"Erik!"

He pulled away from her. Christine let out a disappointed sigh as he removed himself from her sacred threshold. "Erik—"

He lifted her into his arms before she could protest, quickly returning to his bedroom. He walked to the bed, laying her down upon it. He lay down upon her and entered her once more.

"Oh," she groaned.

Erik began thrusting mercilessly inside her. She wrapped her legs around his buttocks, begging for release.

"Please, Erik, finish this now!"

"Christine!" Erik moaned. He thrust home one last time, spilling his essence inside her.

He fell upon her. Christine gasped beneath him, their fiery passion exhausting, his dark seduction taming her.

They laid there in silence, breathing heavily, their drenched bodies still entwined.

Erik rolled off her after a moment. She winced when he pulled his throbbing flesh from inside her sensitive core. She could feel his seed between her legs. She smiled dazedly.

Turning toward him, she propped up on her elbow and laid her hand on his deformed cheek. He turned toward her, placing his hand upon her breast, gently squeezing it.

"I'm listening," she whispered.

Erik gathered her into his arms, rolling her upon his damp chest. He drew in a long breath, his hesitation obvious. Christine caressed his chest in an attempt to comfort him.

"Tell me, Erik. I'm here. I won't leave you."

Erik sighed. "I don't wish for you to think ill of me, to think I'm a weak man, a lascivious man. I'm scared."

She looked up into his soft eyes. "It's all right, Erik. Trust me. Please."

He kissed her softly on the lips, caressing her arms. "I never meant to hurt you, Christine. I wanted to tell you, it's just—"

"Shh, my love," Christine whispered, laying a finger on his lips. He gently kissed it. "Just tell me."


	19. Innocent Beauty

_**Chapter Eighteen: Innocent Beauty **_

"Tell me, Erik. I'm here. I won't leave you."

Erik sighed. "I don't wish for you to think ill of me, to think I'm a weak man, a lascivious man. I'm scared."

She looked up into his soft eyes. "It's all right, Erik. I won't. Trust me. Please."

He kissed her softly on the lips, caressing her arms. "I never meant to hurt you, Christine. I wanted to tell you, it's just—"

"Shh, my love," Christine whispered, laying a finger on his lips. He gently kissed it. "Just tell me."

He nodded, taking her hand in his, caressing her hair with his other. She laid her head upon his chest.

It was a long while before he finally spoke.

"Geneviève was the prima donna of Monsieur Reynard's theater company."

"Monsieur Reynard?" She exclaimed. She sat up, looking incredulously at Erik. "She was the prima donna for _le Jardin du Théâtre?_" She warily asked, realizing it to be Monsieur Reynard's company that Erik anonymously composed for.

Erik nodded. "But it isn't what you think, Christine—"

"How could you possibly know what I'm thinking, Erik," she asked irritatingly. "This is all very overwhelming. _I_ don't even know what to think!" She looked away, his piercing eyes unbearable.

Erik sat up and lifted her chin, forcing her to face him. "Please, Christine. Please—"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Erik."

"Me too," he said simply.

Christine embraced him. "Go on."

Erik grasped her shoulders, laying her upon him once again. "She starred in my most recent opera. She hadn't come to be in Paris until a little over a year ago. This was her debut performance with _le Jardin du Théâtre_."

Tears filled Christine's eyes. _Had they been married that long? Oh, God. Had he tutored Geneviève as he had her? _

She silently groaned, suddenly thankful Erik couldn't see her face.

"She had auditioned for Monsieur Reynard." He paused. "I, myself, hadn't heard her sing until the night of the premiere."

Christine silently giggled, her mood suddenly lightened. "Are you telling me, Erik, that you actually allowed another to decide who should perform which role in _your_ opera?"

He gently squeezed her. "Hush."

She grinned, hearing the smile in his voice.

"Monsieur Reynard is tremendously gifted. I trust his choice of talent with my life. He's a brilliant man."

Christine looked up at him. She laid her hand on his deformed cheek. "He must be. You do compose for him, after all."

Erik shyly smiled. He lifted one of her curls from her nude back, twirling it through his deft fingers. He kissed it.

She sweetly sighed, laying her head upon his chest once more.

"Meeting Geneviève had been by chance, Christine. As I told you once before, whenever I traveled to Paris I was completely disguised. And my attending _le Jardin du Théâtre's_ performances were never an exception." He sighed. "There's never an exception."

Christine kissed his chest, hearing the sadness in his voice. He caressed her back in response.

"It was the night of the debut. I was clandestinely leaving the theater after discussing the evening with Monsieur Reynard when our eyes met. I immediately hid within the shadows of the theater but she wouldn't have it." He cynically chuckled. "It's as if she was looking for me. She's an incredibly stubborn woman, Christine, whose never been denied anything. The moment our eyes met I knew she wanted me, I knew she recognized who I was. Yet I couldn't fathom how she'd come to know who I was or why she wanted me." He groaned. "God, what had I been thinking?"

"It's all right, Erik." She whispered, stroking his chest.

"No, Christine, it's not. It hadn't been the first time I felt with my cock than my mind…than my heart," he murmured.

Christine flinched at his direct words. She sat up, straddling him. He caressed her shoulders. She looked at him doubtfully.

"Forgive me, my love, but there really isn't any other way to describe it. My flesh throbbed when I first saw her." He looked away. "I wanted her the moment I first saw her on the stage. It was pure lust." He scoffed.

"She's a beautiful woman, Erik." She coyly smiled, caressing his cheek. "All is forgiven."

He sat up, kissing her breast then her neck. "I love you, Christine."

"I know."

She laid her hand upon his stomach. He leaned on his elbow, laying his other hand upon hers.

"She has an exquisite voice. There's no doubt of that. And when I first spoke with her, well, I became even more enchanted with her." He shook his head. "She isn't the woman I had first known her to be. Not any longer. I don't even recognize the woman she's become."

Erik suddenly grasped Christine's shoulders and crushed her to him. "Please, angel, I know things have changed, _we _have changed. But promise me that you will love me for the man I have become and not for the evil being I was. For I shall always love you as the young woman I knew you to be and as the woman you are now and will become. I will love you as the beautiful woman I have always known. I couldn't bear it, though, if you turn into a dark creature that I won't even recognize any longer." He held her tighter. She felt his tears on her shoulders. "Please, Christine. Don't ever change for the worse."

She fervently held him. "Never, Erik, my love, my angel," she whispered. "And I shall always love you for the man you are now and shall become." She slightly pulled away, looking fixedly into his desperate eyes. "And I will always love you for the man I knew you to be, for your music, your passion." She held him once more. "I will always love you, Erik. And I promise I won't ever change for the worse."

He deeply sighed, looking intently at her. He nodded.

They lay down on their sides. Erik held her in his arms, her back against his chest. He gently cupped her breast. Christine nuzzled her bottom enticingly against his heated flesh in return.

Erik quietly groaned as she pressed against him. "I'm not finished with you yet, my darling beauty."

She let out a contented giggle.

He then became serious, tilting her face to look at him. "Tell me, Christine. Does the wanting ever stop?"

Christine quietly sighed. _I hope not, angel._ But she responded with a gentle, "I don't know, Erik. I truly don't know." She cupped his cheek. "But I hope not."

He smiled and kissed her forehead, grasping her breast once more. "I don't think it does, my love." He sighed. "I still have much to tell you, Christine. I want to tell you everything."

She laid her hand behind him, grasping his buttock. "I'm still here."

He squeezed her breast.

"Geneviève and I spent much time together after that night. I found myself going into the city often just to be with her." He paused. "We soon became lovers. It was a secret affair. I most especially didn't wish for Monsieur Reynard to know. I felt horrible for keeping it from him." Christine felt him shake his head then kiss her back. "I never meant to deceive him. I just couldn't help myself. I wasn't alone anymore."

Christine's eyes filled with tears. She turned to him, laying her hand on his face. "Oh, Erik," she whispered.

He leaned his head into her palm and kissed it. "She's a very…passionate woman, Christine. I pathetically couldn't resist. She _always_ wanted me. She was insatiable. I cannot describe it. But, God, I wanted her."

"Lust is quite powerful, Erik, it's extremely intoxicating."

"Yes," he replied insipidly. "I suppose it is."

She wrapped her arms around his body. He ardently returned her embrace.

"Our affair lasted for a little over two months."

Christine could feel him trembling. She rubbed his back. "It's all right, Erik. Go on."

He stared steadily at her, his eyes haunting. "Then she became with child."

Christine froze.

_My God! He has a child!_

She abruptly pulled away, looking down at him. _Does he have a child with Meg, too?_ She shook her head. _No! She would have told you, wouldn't she?_

Christine trembled. She moved away, sitting at the edge of the bed. She wound her arms about her body. _ I can't do this._

"Christine." She felt Erik's hands upon her shoulders. She flinched. "Please, Christine."

He sat behind her, his legs paralleled with hers, his naked flesh against her back.

"Christine, my love, trust me." He wrapped his arms about her body. "Please, trust me."

Erik miserably sighed when she said nothing but continued. "That's why I married her, Christine, because she was with child. It was the honorable thing to do. I didn't want to, I swear to you I didn't. But I wouldn't leave her, either, I couldn't. She was carrying my child!" He held her tighter. "You must understand." He laid his head on her shoulder.

She remained silent.

"Christine?" She could hear the fear in his voice. "Please, say something."

She turned to him. "I understand," she replied meekly. "You have a child with this woman, Erik?"

He shook his head. "No, Christine. She lost it two months after we married."

Christine hastily stood up, remembering the three children she lost, the recent almost killing her, changing her life forever. She suddenly began to cry, falling to the floor.

But Erik was there. He swiftly caught her, holding her in his strong arms. "Oh God, Christine, please, don't cry. Please, love."

She clung to him, shivering. He quickly sat her on the bed then retrieved his dressing gown. Hers was thoroughly ruined from their violent lovemaking from only moments before.

He wrapped it about her body, sitting beside her. He anxiously embraced her. "Tell me, Christine. Talk to me."

"It's me, Erik. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Shh, love. Tell me."

She looked darkly into his eyes. "I had three miscarriages, Erik! Three! I never gave Raoul a child. I couldn't give him one!" She began sobbing uncontrollably, grabbing his face between her hands. "What if I cannot give you a child, Erik? Oh, God, I couldn't bear it!" She fell into his lap, continuing to cry hysterically.

"Oh, Christine, my love," he soothed, wrapping his arms around her, caressing her back. "No, my darling love, please. Don't say such things." He began weeping. "Oh, my angel, I'm so sorry."

They held another for a long while.

Erik lifted her up, laying her upon him on the bed, his feet still on the floor. "It's all right, Christine. Please, love." He wiped the tears from her face. "Christine," he whispered.

"I'm sorry. I'm all right, truly." She said through her soft sobs.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She shook her head. _Why didn't I tell him?_

"I don't know, Erik. I really don't know."

"Oh, Christine," he muttered, holding her to him once more. "I love you, Christine. Everything will be all right, I promise you."

"I believe you, Erik."

She heard Erik sigh. "Do you wish for me to continue? We can stop if you'd like."

She shook her head against his chest. "No. I want to know."

He rolled her upon the bed, propping himself on his elbow, looking down at her. He kissed her forehead. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

No, she wasn't sure. She couldn't believe this! He was married! He'd created a child with a woman Christine knew absolutely nothing about! She wondered if she'd be more upset if he'd created a child with Meg than this woman.

Yet she hated herself for having these jealous thoughts, these hateful thoughts. She'd been married to Raoul for four years, and she loved him! Erik hadn't loved Geneviève!

_You must remember that, Christine. He doesn't love her._

She laid her hand upon his deformed cheek, urging him to continue. She could see the doubt in his amber eyes.

"Please, Erik. I shouldn't have made this about myself. This is about you."

He shook his head. "But it is about you, Christine. I love you!" He declared passionately. "You are my heart, my soul. Everything I've ever done is because of you."

"What," she asked, suddenly confused.

_Running into the arms of a woman who'd only wanted his body was because of her? Damn you, Erik!_

"I don't understand, Erik. Are you saying that it's because of me you had a relationship with Geneviève? A relationship clearly based exclusively upon lust? I can never forgive you for that!"

"No," Erik hurriedly replied. "No, Christine! That isn't what I mean." He groaned. "This isn't how I meant this conversation to happen."

"No, I suppose not, Erik. It would seem you didn't wish to have it at all." She pulled away from him. "Damn you," she whispered.

She stood from the bed and began to leave the room. She abruptly stopped when Erik angrily stood before her.

"You'll listen to me, damn it! You said you'd listen! You told me to trust you! Now you're leaving? I'm not finished!" He angrily pointed to the bed. "Now sit down!"

Christine stared at him in disbelief. For once he'd demanded something of her without becoming the sexually and violently powerful being she knew him to be. Yes, only moments ago they had both been sexually and violently potent toward another, and his frustration was clearly evident now. Yet now it was just him, standing there in his naked perfection, commanding her to sit and listen to him.

He was just simply Erik, a man who wanted his woman to listen, to understand, to trust, a man who would do anything for their love, even if his truth meant ultimately hurting her in the end.

But she also knew he was terrified of hurting her, of losing her, because of it.

_God, I love you._

"Brava, Erik. Brava." She simply said.

"Now what do you mean by that—"

She ardently kissed him, grasping his face between her hands. He hesitated then wrapped his arms about her waist.

She gently pulled away after a moment. "I love you," she murmured. "Don't ever be afraid to speak the truth, Erik, even if it means hurting me. Remember that."

He stared at her intently then shook his head. "I would never hurt you, Christine."

She smiled, taking his hand, walking him back toward the bed.

Erik stopped her, embracing her from behind. "I'm sorry for what happened, Christine, for you and Raoul both. The grief of losing a child, one you never had the chance to know—"

"Is unimaginable," she whispered.

He held her tighter. She turned toward him. "Thank you, Erik."

He kissed her, entwining their hands. They walked to the bed together, sitting upon it, their hands entwined in Erik's lap.

"When we were first married she did live here with me." He continued. "But she soon became a completely different person. I couldn't believe such a transformation were possible."

Christine squeezed his hand. "And what of you, Erik," she sweetly asked.

He smiled, understanding in his eyes. "Yes, well, I suppose you're right." He kissed her shoulder.

"How long have you been married?" She demurely asked.

"Eight months."

She nodded.

"She was horrible to me, to the servants." He continued once more. "Bernard hated her."

Christine softly laughed. "I imagine so."

"It explains why he and Capucine were so excited to see you. I've told Bernard everything of you, and I've come to know that he's told Capucine quite a lot." He shook his head. "No matter," he said, lightly caressing her hands.

He sighed. "The night Geneviève lost the baby she attacked me."

Christine looked into his eyes. "Attacked you?"

"Oh, yes," he replied damnably. "I thought she was going to kill me." He paused, tears filling his eyes. "She blamed my face, Christine. She swore it was because of my deformity that caused her to lose the child!"

"Oh, Erik, I'm so sorry." Christine kissed him. "It isn't true, Erik. You must know that."

He exhaled. "I know that, but I believed her at the time. She was so convinced. _She_ was very convincing! I fucking believed her!" He yelled, tears streaming down his face.

He abruptly stood up and began pacing the room. "I thought it had begun once more! First I lost you because of my face then my child! I hated myself!"

"No!" Christine stood up and grabbed him. "No, Erik! Don't you dare say that! I didn't leave you because of your face and don't you ever think otherwise!" She shoved away from him, sitting on the bed once more.

They were silent.

He stood before her for a long while, visibly regretting his words.

"Oh, God, Christine, please, forgive me." He kneeled before her, laying his head in her lap, wrapping his arms around her waist. "I'm so sorry."

She laid her hand in his hair, stroking it. "I'm sorry, too, Erik. I know you didn't mean it." She lifted his face, her eyes boring into his. "It isn't your fault she lost the child, Erik. It isn't anyone's fault. Believe me, I know."

Erik laid his hands upon her face. "My beloved, my beautiful angel, forgive me."

She kissed him. "I already have. You know that."

He grasped her hands in his, fervently kissing them.

"After that night I demanded that she leave. I wanted nothing to do with her. She wouldn't leave at first, but she soon found another. Then she was gone. She has her affairs. I certainly wasn't her first conquest. But I had my music. And it's through my music I was able to heal." He paused. "I was devastated, but not because she left. I was upset with myself for falling into her trap. I wanted her, Christine. But I only wanted her body." He looked desperately into her eyes. "Can you forgive me for that, Christine? I lusted for her as if I were a spoiled young man! I was disgusted with myself! I haven't even forgiven myself," he murmured.

"Oh, Erik, you must. You must, my wonderful man. I may not understand completely, but I do know that there is nothing to forgive."

"How can you say that, Christine? How—"

"Because I_ know _you, Erik, because I love you. I just wish you had trusted me. You should have told me."

"I wanted to, Christine. But I was scared. How could you believe that I've never stopped loving you if you'd known of Geneviève? If you'd known of the lustful being I truly am? I was afraid you'd leave me once I told you." He grasped her face between his hands. "I couldn't lose you, Christine. Not again. Not ever."

"Oh, Erik, never, my love, never," she whispered, taking him in her arms. "I'll never leave you!"

"Don't leave me, Christine." He was weeping. "Don't leave me."

"I won't, Erik, I promise you." She pulled away, looking into his eyes. "But you must trust me. I want there to be complete honesty, complete trust, between us always."

"As do I, my love, as do I."

"I'm not asking for your secrets, Erik. Just promise me that if you do decide to confide in me, no matter how horrible you may believe it to be, just promise that it'll be true."

He kissed her softly. "I promise you."

"I promise, too."

They silently stared at another for a while. Erik then stood up, walking slowly about the room.

"She's no longer employed with _le Jardin du Théâtre._" He groaned. "And Monsieur Reynard wasn't happy with our marriage. But he never spoke his concern aloud. Always the private man, he'd never indulge in another's private matters unless he was asked to."

He rubbed his hands upon his face. "I don't know why she came here this morning. Though I can imagine she had discovered your being here," he murmured. He hastily shook his head. "Impossible. She either wanted money or her most recent lover has left her. She always returns when they leave her, either to me or Henri. Henri has been her lover for over ten years," Erik quickly explained. "I don't know why the besotted fool hasn't left her. She treats him horribly."

"Apparently so," Christine disdainfully replied.

"Sometimes I wonder if the two conspired to trap me in marriage. I just can't figure out why. It's infuriated me for the last six months!" He groaned miserably.

Christine couldn't decide if he was speaking to her or himself. Then the unthinkable occurred to her.

"Do you think she'll keep your existence a secret?"

"Oh, yes. She must, or else she'll be arrested for knowingly associating herself with a murderer, for marrying a murderer!" He threw his hands up in the air. "What a mess I've gotten myself in. I've meant to annul the marriage but never found the courage to do so." He looked at her sheepishly. "Until now," he whispered.

Christine tremulously smiled.

He continued pacing then abruptly stopped, his eyes boring into her very soul. "There's something else, Christine."

Christine tensed. She knew what he was speaking of. Or rather, _whom, _he was speaking of. Her stomach churned. She wasn't sure if she wanted to hear Erik's explanation of the forbidden love affair.

"What is it, Erik?" She finally asked.

"When I stayed with the Girys for those eight months I found…peace…with Meg." He stared intently in her eyes. "We were lovers for a little less than two months."

Christine sighed, looking down at her feet. She nodded. "I know, Erik. Meg told me."

"She did?" He asked breathlessly. "My God, Christine, why didn't you say anything? How can you trust me at all? How can you believe I love you when I've kept two women from you, when I've _known_ two other women?"

He hastily walked toward her, grasping her shoulders, shaking her. "How, Christine? Why? Tell me! How can you believe I love you?" He pushed her away from him, causing her to fall upon the bed.

She quickly sat up, watching him.

She did believe he loved her. Yet she suddenly felt doubt. She didn't care for the idea of him making love to two other woman, one her dearest friend and the other—

Christine shook her head. But she'd been married to Raoul! To a man she had loved, had been _in _love with! It didn't seem fair, didn't seem right, that Erik was killing himself over his being with two other women during their separation while she actually loved another man. She suddenly felt sick.

She stood up from the bed, wrapping Erik's dressing gown tighter about her. Erik wasn't facing her, staring aimlessly into nothing.

"I think I shall return to my room."

He quickly turned to her, startled. "Christine?" He began walking toward her.

She raised her hands, stopping him. "No, Erik, please."

She walked past him toward the door. She needed an escape, needed time to herself to think. Needed—

"I'm frightened, Christine."

She immediately stopped, his soft voice alarming her.

_Oh, angel, I'm frightened, too. Save me, Erik._

She hesitantly turned to him. "Don't be afraid, Erik." She walked to him, taking his hands in hers. "Don't be afraid," she whispered in his ear. "For the true question is, Erik, how can you believe that I've never stopped loving you when I _have_ loved another?" Tears filled her eyes.

She began to pull away but he stopped her with a kiss. She weakly kissed him back, trembling.

"I hadn't even known you'd loved me until you returned to me."

Christine cupped his cheek. "I have always loved you, Erik. I was just too frightened to recognize it." She chuckled. "You were quite terrifying."

Erik groaned. "I'm sorry for that."

"It's all right." She simply stated.

"What do we do now, Christine?" He leaned his forehead against hers.

"I don't know. Things have changed, Erik."

"My love for you hasn't." He spoke feverishly.

"Neither has mine."

He lifted her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Come to bed, Christine. Stay with me."

Tears began to fall down her cheeks. He bent his head, kissing them away.

She ignored his request, taking in a deep breath.

There were two very imperative things she had to know. Two terrifying thoughts that would forever haunt her mind if she never truly knew.

"Erik," she breathed, "did you love Meg? Do you have a child…with her?"

He hastily shook his head, gently grasping her face. "No, Christine. I didn't love her. And I don't have a child."

"I don't, either." She said, complete despair in her voice.

He lifted her hands, kissing them. "I will give you one, Christine. I want nothing more than to have a child born from our love, our flesh and blood in one combined—"

"I don't think it's possible, Erik." She looked away from him. "I almost died when I last miscarried. I don't think I'm meant to have children. I'm scared, Erik. I'm so very frightened!"

"Oh, Christine, I'm here, my love, you aren't alone."

He fervently embraced her.

"Oh, God, save me, Erik, I need you!"

They held another for a long while, Christine trembling in his arms. Erik held her closer.

"Christine," he finally whispered, kneeling before her, untying his dressing gown. He slipped his arms inside the gown, wrapping them about her body. He kissed her bare stomach then laid his head upon it. She wrapped her arms about his broad shoulders in return.

"She walks in beauty, like the night," Erik softly began, kissing her navel, his voice touching her very soul.

"Of cloudless climes and starry skies." He kissed her hip.

"And all that's best of dark and bright," he breathed, kissing her other hip.

"Meet in her aspect and her eyes." He stood before her, gently taking her face in his hands, devotedly kissing her eyelids.

Tears filled Christine's eyes as she savored his touch. The familiar words haunting her, she knew the poem by memory, a poem that'd always mesmerized her.

_Oh, Erik, of course you'd know his words, repeat his words, with complete devotion._

"Thus mellow'd to that tender light," he murmured, kissing her cheek.

"Which heaven to gaudy day denies." He kissed her other cheek.

"One shade the more, one ray the less," he soothed, slipping the dressing gown off her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground.

"Had half impair'd the nameless grace," he whispered in her ear then bent his head, kissing both her shoulders.

Christine shuddered, laying her hands in the crook of his elbows.

"Which waves in every raven tress," he continued, walking behind her, pressing his face in her hair, his hands caressing her silky curls.

Christine leaned into his warm touch.

"Or softly lightens o'er her face." Erik cupped her cheek.

"Where thoughts serenely sweet express," he sighed, tenderly kissing her neck.

She sweetly groaned, her tears now streaming down her face.

"How pure, how dear their dwelling-place." He turned her to face him once more, taking her hand and placing it upon his heart, while simultaneously laying his other hand upon her own heart.

"And on that cheek, and o'er that brow," he gently murmured as he kissed her tearstained cheeks once more, then her brow.

"So soft, so calm, yet eloquent," he breathed, kneeling before her once more, his hands caressing her breasts. He kissed them lovingly.

"The smiles that win, the tints that glow," he continued, kissing her thigh.

Christine stroked his hair, arching her neck, his kisses seducing her.

"But tell of days in goodness spent," he softly groaned, kissing her other thigh.

Christine whimpered. She was trembling.

"A mind at peace with all below," he barely whispered, lightly kissing her most secret area with complete devotion.

Christine softly moaned and grasped his shoulders, lifting him to his feet. They leaned their foreheads against another's, both breathing deeply.

"A heart whose love is innocent!" Erik finished, his voice becoming one with hers as she whispered those last words with him. He kissed her softly.

"Lord Byron." Christine quietly spoke.

Erik nodded then lifted her in his arms, slowly walking them to the bed. He gently laid her down, their heated bodies desperate with wanting. They clung to another, their bodies urgently becoming one.

"There will never be another, Christine, my innocent love, my beautiful soul, my divine angel." He thrust deeply inside her.

"I know, Erik." She sighed. "It doesn't matter that you've had other lovers, as long as I'm the last. I love you my beloved, my beautiful man."

"Oh, yes, Christine. I'm yours, _mon coeur_." He groaned. "I love you."

She looked up into his eyes. She leaned her forehead against his, succumbing to his impassioned love. "Hold me, Erik."

He fervently wrapped his arms beneath her, her breasts pressed against his damp chest, her hands caressing his scarred back. She wrapped her legs around his waist, longing for him to be deeper inside her, their souls becoming one.


	20. His Opera

_**Chapter Nineteen: His Opera **_

Erik gazed at the painted ceiling above his bed. Christine curled upon him, his arms wrapped securely about her, his mind thankful for the peaceful night. He softly sighed.

It'd been an exhausting day, emotionally and physically. He hated himself for prolonging his revelation to Christine about Geneviève. He'd been too much of a coward to tell her, scared of losing her again, and yet he'd almost lost her in the end because of his idiocy.

_Foolish, stupid man,_ he thought mindlessly as he looked down at the sleeping beauty in his arms.

Damn Geneviève! Damn _him_! He should have known she'd come storming back into his life. He should have annulled his marriage to her when they'd lost the baby. He just didn't have the courage or the heart to do it, despite her wicked soul.

He silently groaned. He shouldn't have allowed Bernard to fix that damn bridge, either.

Erik abruptly shook his head at the thought. What he really should have done was trusted Christine completely.

No matter. It would never happen again. He'd tell her no more lies, have no more secrets. She was his soul, and he wanted nothing more than for her to know everything of him. It was just something he'd never done before. He'd never let another being into his mind, into his heart.

Christine had truly changed his cynically miserable life.

Erik wrapped his arms closer about her soft body. He kissed her on the forehead.

After their violent argument this morning, and the fierce lovemaking that went with it, Erik realized for the first time that Christine had very much become a woman. His veil had been lifted.

Yes, they'd spent the entire week in another's arms, and Erik had discovered the passionate woman she'd become through their devoted and amorous lovemaking, but her impassioned voice and body this morning had done wonders to Erik's mind, to his soul.

He'd found her. He'd finally found the woman he'd known her to always be, the woman he'd known she'd become. His first glimpse of it had been in his lair that ill-fated night, when she'd quite viciously fought and pleaded to save the Vicomte's life. But he'd been too enthralled with his own sorrow and desire to care, to even notice, until it'd been too late.

He'd then seen the woman she'd become that night she'd returned to him, after years of separation, when she'd confided everything to him. Her fear of him, and love for him, her shattered heart when he'd betrayed and deceived her, she'd held nothing back.

But it hadn't been until this morning that he truly discovered she was the woman he'd dreamt of. He hadn't thought he could fall in love with her any more deeply until this morning. She'd fought him, fought for him! She simply…loved him.

He carefully rolled onto his side, his hand caressing her brown curls, his naked body pressed against hers.

She hadn't left him, either, hadn't given up on him! Erik knew now that she'd never leave him. She was his. Nothing else mattered except her love. His insecurities surrounding their love were no longer.

Erik smiled. He felt immortal. Nothing would separate them again, they were one. It calmed him. He was…happy.

Tears unexpectedly fell down his unmasked face. This feeling had never been in is life before. He'd been content with the Girys, Meg had certainly made him feel something, but with Christine he felt _everything._

His caresses grew bolder upon Christine's body as his blissful thoughts continued to fill his mind_._

_I love you, my darling angel. I'm yours._

Christine unexpectedly leaned into his touch, letting out a sweet sigh. He saw her slightly smile.

"I can feel your thoughts, you know," she said, her voice scratchy with sleep, her eyes still closed.

Erik chuckled, grazing his knuckle against her cheek. He bent his head and kissed the valley between her soft breasts. "I love you, Christine," he whispered.

She swiftly opened her eyes, laying her hand upon his cheek. "I know."

Suddenly inspired, Erik gently grasped her hand upon his cheek. He tenderly kissed her palm. "Come, I want to show you something."

She giggled. "Now," she asked incredulously. "It's the middle of the night!"

Erik emerged from the bed, taking her with him. "Yes, now," he politely demanded, lifting her in his arms.

He stood her on the floor as he hastily grabbed their dressing gowns from the floor. He tied hers about her body then his about his own.

Entwining their hands, they began leaving the room.

Christine leaned into him and kissed his throat. "I trust you."

Erik abruptly stopped at her words, and looked into her sparkling hazel eyes. He softly kissed her. She tasted of wine and strawberries, it enchanted him. "You taste nice."

"Mmm," she moaned. "That was nice. Do it again."

Erik lovingly laughed, but happily obliged, embracing her. He licked her lips then thrust his tongue within her mouth. Christine sighed.

She lightly bit the bottom of his lip when he reluctantly ended their second kiss, his manhood stirring. _Keep yourself in check, man. Give her a break! It's been a long week._

He leaned his forehead against hers, enjoying their secret moment. They stayed silent, holding another.

Christine demurely squeezed his shoulder, a subtle gesture that she didn't wish to wait any longer. "Show me," she quietly spoke.

Erik nodded.

They began walking toward the door once more, Erik chivalrously opening it for her. He confidently led them down the dimly lit hallway, hand in hand.

The servants knew his habits well, thus the several lit candles. Quite often he'd roam about his home at night, frenzied thoughts of creativity and inspiration in his mind. He composed often at night, and despite the grand piano in his room, his most secret room, his actual music room, was usually his destination in the midst of the night.

Just as now, his music room was his whimsical destination.

Christine's hand warm in his caused Erik to quicken his pace, the thought of her seeing his music room for the first time thrilling him.

Erik smiled to himself as he felt Christine cling to him as he deftly descended the grand stairs to the foyer.

"Where are we going," she intriguingly asked. "You know I have no patience."

He squeezed her delicate hand. "I am quite aware of that, my love. Now, hush."

"Humph."

He chuckled at her charming defiance, his steps becoming swifter as they descended another staircase, this one in the shape of a spiral, candelabrum upon the stone walls lighting their way.

"Ow!" Erik suddenly exclaimed when Christine bit his neck. "What was that for?"

She maliciously giggled.

Erik stopped. "Is that the way of it, then?" He growled.

"Perhaps," she said simply. She lightly poked him in the chest. "You may pretend to be cross with me, love, but your smile gives you away."

She began to pull her finger away from his chest but Erik grabbed it, boldly taking it in his mouth. He felt Christine weaken beneath his touch.

She softly moaned then gasped when he bit her. She seized his now throbbing flesh in return. Erik groaned.

He released her finger then kissed her neck, Christine continuing her brazen caresses.

Erik smoothly pushed her against the curved stoned wall, his hand grasping her bottom, pressing her against him, his lips still kissing her swanlike neck.

"Erik." Christine panted, her chin lying upon his shoulder.

Erik began kissing her collarbone. He slipped his free hand in her dressing gown, cupping her breast.

"Christine," he breathed, "you must stop. You know I have no control with you."

He heard her softly laugh. She slipped her hand beneath his gown, grabbing him once more, her bare hand upon him becoming unbearable.

Erik grudgingly returned to his senses, tenderly stopping her. "Enough," he whispered with no conviction.

Christine bit his ear, briefly flicking it with her lush tongue, then slipped away from him.

She began walking down the stairs. Looking over her shoulder to face him, she sweetly smiled. "Aren't you coming?"

_You have no idea,_ Erik wickedly thought, making no attempt to move.

She shrugged her shoulders then looked away from him, continuing her descent.

Erik smirked, shaking his head. He ran behind her, sweeping her up in his arms. Christine squealed.

"I do plan to finish what you started, my lovely." He proclaimed in her ear.

Christine laughed. "What _I_ started?"

"Yes, what _you_ started!"

"Preposterous!"

Erik chuckled as he breathed in the luscious scent of her, jasmine with a touch of lavender.

"Ambrosia," he whispered.

He felt the heat of her blush upon her cheeks at his words. She looked deeply into his eyes then kissed him.

"Oh, I do love you, Erik. I love you so very much."

Erik squeezed her legs then slowly set her upon the floor once they'd approached the door to his music room. He took a candle from the wall then opened the door.

"After you, mademoiselle," he pleasantly gestured.

Christine teasingly bowed.

"_Merci, _monsieur," she caressed his chest and kissed him on his deformed cheek then curiously entered the dark room.

"Just a moment," Erik instructed as he began lighting the myriad of candelabrum in the room.

They remained in idyllic silence as Erik swiftly went about the room, it slowly illuminating beneath his adroit touch.

He heard Christine gasp.

"Oh, Erik, it's lovely!" She turned to face him. "It's magnificent!"

Erik shyly smiled, walking toward her, setting the candle upon his organ along the way.

He wrapped his arms about her waist and kissed her shoulder. "You really think so?"

"You know I do!"

She briefly kissed him then pulled out of his embrace. She began walking about the room, keenly observing it.

It was very much reminiscent of his lair beneath the Paris Opera House, Erik knew, except, there wasn't a vast lake or imposing trellis trapping those unwilling to stay within.

His grand organ was erected in the middle of the majestic room, an abundant of candelabrum elegantly surrounding it. A Persian bed with silk sheets and pillows lay in the corner of the room for the many restless nights he spent here. Always desperately hoping inspiration would come to him in the midst of sleep, and if so, not having to go far to compose and play upon his faithful organ.

An oblong table stood against the far side of the room, endless amounts of paper, either blank or filled with his eternal music, upon it, and a velvet chair pushed in beneath it.

An immense bookcase stood in a corner of the room, it's stylishly crafted shelves filled with histories on famous composers and artists, their compositions also placed on the shelves.

In another corner of the room stood a _Panier de Fleur_ mirror, a mirror that Erik hadn't kept covered, a mirror that wasn't broken. A mirror that he found himself unable to live without, a mirror that he stood before each day, embracing his new self, his new life.

_A new life that now consisted of Christine._

Erik's eyes stayed fixed upon his innocent beauty, his innocent love, as she walked about the room.

It was a long while before she stopped. She stood before the organ. Erik held his breath as he watched her eyes gaze upon his most accomplished piece of work. An opera he'd written with Christine as his muse, an opera of passion, sex and love. An opera written for her voice, her body, her soul, an opera he'd written for _them._

Christine sat down upon the organ bench, seemingly in a trance, her hand upon her chest.

Erik slowly walked toward her. He laid his hands upon her shoulders. She leaned into him, laying a hand on his.

"You still have it," she quietly observed.

"Yes."

"I thought it may have gotten lost within the chaos of the Opera House…that night."

Erik felt her swallow hard. He let out a long sigh, sitting beside her.

He took her hands in his. "I thought so, too. Berenice found it and returned it to me." He paused. "I found it lying on the music stand of my organ beneath the Opera House when I returned there four years ago."

Christine absently nodded, her tear filled eyes staring intensely at his score.

"That was kind of Madame Giry," she finally spoke.

Erik nodded.

They were silent once more.

"Christine?" Erik caressed her arm. "Talk to me."

She slowly exhaled. Erik believed she may have been holding her breath the entire time. She turned to him, laying her hand on his knee.

"Play for me, Erik."

Erik's eyes widened with disbelief. He certainly hadn't expected this request.

"Christine, I—"

She laid her hand upon his lips, shaking her head. "Please, Erik. I have been without you and your music for almost five years." She abruptly stood from the bench, pacing the room. "I have been without music _since_ that night! I haven't _sung_ since that night!"

She began crying.

Erik quickly stood from the bench, taking her in his arms. "Oh, angel," he soothed. "Tell me."

She fervently held him. "At first I couldn't sing, Erik, didn't wish to sing. It was too painful. Not having my angel any longer, my inspiration. I simply couldn't do it."

She was silent then. Erik began rubbing her back, hoping to encourage her.

"Yet, I knew I couldn't sing any longer. I could never grace the stage as long as I was married to Raoul. It would be highly improper for a Vicomtesse to perform. And I wouldn't do that to him, I wouldn't scandalize him."

Erik held back an instinctive growl forming in his throat at the mention of the Vicomte.

He wrapped his arms firmly about Christine's body. "Do you think he would have let you, Christine?"

He felt her nod against his chest. "Yes, Erik, I do. I know he would have allowed me to sing, no matter what scandal it would have brought him."

"He loved you very much."

"Yes," she sadly whispered. "He did."

She slightly pulled away from his arms. "And because of his love, because of everything he'd done for me, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I wouldn't bring that shame to him and his family. His family embraced me, Erik. Me! A poor daughter of a Swedish violinist and Parisian actress! A woman of the stage! They loved me, Erik. I couldn't possibly shame them because of my passion for music."

She silently wept in his arms, her cries muffled against his chest.

"But I wanted to, Erik! I truly wanted to sing once again! I wanted to perform! I may have been a Vicomtesse, but my heart, my very soul, will always be an actress! Yet I wouldn't, Erik! And I felt empty because of it. I thought you'd hate me because of it," she murmured.

Erik grabbed Christine's shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "Never, Christine," he spoke ardently. "I could never hate you! My God! Did you really think that?"

She meekly nodded.

Erik sighed, shaking his head. "Christine, I will admit that when the Girys informed me of your no longer singing I was extremely upset, disappointed even, but I would never hate you because of it."

"I know," she cried. "But I couldn't sing without you, either, Erik. I need you with me! I've always needed you with me. Your voice and soul, your passion for music…_your_ music! It inspired me! You were everything to me, Erik! And I simply couldn't do it without you!"

She pulled away from his embrace. "I don't even know if I can sing any longer!" She scoffed.

She then turned to face him, staring intently into his eyes. "It scares me, Erik. I'm scared I won't be able to sing again, that I won't be able to sing for you."

Tears filled Erik's eyes at her sad confession. They stood in silence until it seemed Christine couldn't bear looking at him any longer. She hastily turned away from him, walking aimlessly about the room.

Erik turned toward his organ then looked back at Christine. He nodded to himself then sat before his powerful instrument.

He deftly laid his hands upon the piano keys and played.

*******

Christine stiffened as she heard Erik's impassioned music. It was the song they'd so brazenly and passionately sung together before all of Paris the night she'd revealed him, and lost him for what she'd thought would be forever.

She slowly turned to him, his back to her. He wasn't singing, though Christine longed to hear his invigorating voice once more. He merely played. He was playing for her, soothing her, helping, _yearning,_ her to remember his music, their song.

Christine walked toward him, her soul lost in his dark and erotic reverie.

She sat down beside him.

She ached to touch him, to speak to him, to sing for him, but wouldn't. Instead, she just listened and became seduced by his music once more.

Neither spoke as Erik continued feverishly playing.

Christine closed her eyes, entranced by him. She slowly lifted her hand and began caressing her face, that night on stage with him returning to her vividly. She deftly grazed her neck, letting it fall back, her own touch intoxicating her, Erik's music touching her soul. She tenderly slid her hand upon her chest, lightly touching her breasts.

She sighed as she continued her journey upon her own body, absentmindedly arousing herself, Erik's music arousing her. She softly groaned as she dipped her fingers between her thighs.

Christine abruptly opened her eyes as she felt Erik's hands upon hers. She hadn't even realized he'd stopped playing.

"Christine," she heard Erik's raspy voice. He drew in a long breath. "Christine," he whispered her name again. She could feel his breath upon her ear. She shivered.

She grasped his hands, forcing their entwined fingers to stroke her liquid core.

"Erik," she breathed. "Touch me."

They continued loving her body with their trembling hands. Christine moaned.

Erik swiftly lifted her off the bench, turning her to face him, her legs straddling his body.

He caressed her arms. "Oh, Christine," he murmured, leaning his forehead against hers. "You will sing again, my angel. I promise you this. You will sing again, Christine."

Erik cupped her breasts. Christine arched her back, thrusting them harder into his large hands, now drenched with her sweet dew.

"I believe you, Erik."

She grabbed the bottom of his dressing gown. Erik wrapped his arms about her as he lifted them slightly off the seat, allowing her to remove it from his strong body.

She grasped his engorged flesh, Erik quickly untying her dressing gown, letting it fall beneath their entwined legs.

He lifted her off his lap as she mounted him, placing his large flesh inside her wet threshold.

"Oh, Christine," Erik groaned, taking her bare breast in his mouth.

Christine wrapped her arms about his back, pleading for him.

They clung to another, their fervent whispers and possessing touches seducing them both.

Erik's music had touched Christine's soul once more, and this time she wasn't letting go.

*******

"Geneviève, where have you been, my sweet lover," a soft voice beckoned to her in the night as she approached the small home, the light through the doorway shining upon her, the silhouette of the man before her rousing her inflamed mind.

It'd been a long and infuriating ride from her philandering husband's home. She was livid and exhausted, wanting nothing more than Henri and his warm bed, wanting nothing more than the man she knew she would always have power over.

Geneviève slipped her arms up her lover's chest, a man who hadn't left her bed for ten years, despite her own endless wanderings. He eagerly embraced her.

She could feel him burning for her after her long absence. She licked his ear.

He groaned.

"Henri," she murmured.

"What it is, my vixen_?_"

She pulled away from him, staring darkly into his eyes. "I want his blood."


	21. Geneviève's Lover

_**Chapter Twenty: Geneviève's Lover**_

Henri softly groaned as he wiped his own blood from his shoulders. He and Geneviève had enjoyed a most _fierce _bout of lovemaking moments ago. Her unexpected return into his life once more had pleased him. He'd missed her so.

He'd hoped it'd only be a matter of time before she'd return to him. But once he'd discovered her pregnancy and marriage to that masked lunatic he thought he'd lost her forever. And when she'd lost the baby and still hadn't returned it'd almost killed him.

Then earlier this evening she'd returned to him with vengeance in her mind and Henri knew he could do naught but serve her.

Truth be told, he was deeply grateful for that Daaé girl. If it hadn't been for her return into that madman's life Geneviève never would have returned to him. He needed her in his life. He needed her passion, her fire, her body.

Henri's thoughts of his woman caused him to turn his attention to her. He watched Geneviève through the mirror as she lay in bed. She was stroking herself, softly moaning. He tried not to flinch, fighting the urge to quickly walk toward her and finish what she was starting. _Or what I hadn't finished,_ he thought bleakly.

He growled in his throat as he thought, not for the first time, what that fiend had been like in bed, if perhaps he'd satisfied Geneviève in a way he never could. It sickened him that he constantly wondered what Geneviève was like in that man's bed, her legs wrapped about his waist, her nails clawing his back.

Henri swallowed. He'd have his own revenge one day. Though he didn't desire blood on his hands, he hoped to turn the son of a bitch into the gendarmes, to truly destroy him. The French government would want nothing more than the murderous Phantom's blood on _their _hands, after all.

He continued watching Geneviève intently, his dark thoughts turning in his mind.

Now it would seem he'd have the chance to exact that revenge, especially with Geneviève having already plotted to have her own vengeance upon the man.

_Yes,_ he thought appreciatively, _I am most grateful to you Mademoiselle Daaé. I hope we shall meet one day so I can thank you._

Henri cleared his throat, Geneviève's ministrations upon her own body driving him mad. Pushing his thoughts of the Phantom and the Daaé girl from his mind, he finally spoke.

"Geneviève, my sweet vixen, you are going to ruin me one of these days," he said, referring to the claw marks on his back.

Geneviève snorted as she rose from the bed and hazily walked toward him. Henri zealously watched her through the mirror.

She stood behind him, her nude breasts brushed against his back.

"You speak as if you'd want me to _fuck_ you any other way."

Henri smirked, leaning against her as she wrapped her arms about his shoulders. "No," he hoarsely whispered, "I wouldn't want it to be any other way."

She sighed and reached over him, grabbing the bloody cloth from his hands. She continued cleaning the marks her fingernails had left on his shoulders. Henri closed his eyes, sighing deeply. He laid his hand on her thigh, caressing her.

"What will you have me do, Geneviève?"

Henri heard Geneviève growl.

"You cannot possibly be jealous of that opera singing whore," Henri keenly observed.

Geneviève scoffed. "Of course I am not, Henri. And how dare you suggest such a thing—"

Henri abruptly turned to her, taking the cloth from her hand, carelessly dropping it on the floor. He took her hands in his. "I am not suggesting it, vixen."

Geneviève rolled her eyes. "If that bitch of an actress is truly in his ghastly life once more then he will divorce me! Damn it, Henri," she seethed, pulling away from him. "Don't you see? Don't you get it?"

Henri stared at her, his eyebrows furrowed. No, he didn't see.

She sighed, falling on the bed. "It's _about_ his money, his musical genius." She stared intently at him as he stood and walked toward her. "_He_ is the reason I have triumphed on the Parisian stage! He is the reason—"

"He is the reason you no longer perform with _le Jardin du Théâtre_, Geneviève."

She waved her hand in the air. "Nonsense, Henri. The only reason I am no longer employed with that company is because of my marriage to him—"

Henri cynically laughed. "I love you, Geneviève, but we both know the true reason as to your no longer being employed with _le Jardin_—"

"Henri!" Geneviève screamed. "Must you?"

"Yes, my pet! I must! The reason you no longer perform for Monsieur Reynard's company any longer is because your voice isn't as…pure, my sweet vixen," Henri struggled, inwardly terrified that Geneviève would emasculate him. She'd threatened too many times before.

It was true that she was no longer the stage beauty she'd once been. Once, long ago, she'd had the most beautiful voice Henri had ever heard. Yet for the past few years it'd slowly diminished.

However, her impeccable training had saved her one year ago when she'd auditioned for Monsieur Reynard. She'd been truly blessed. But once she'd set her trap upon the true musical genius behind _le Jardin du Théâtre,_ the man who would become her husband, it'd been the beginning of the end. She was too absorbed with that damn Phantom, with _Erik,_ wanting his power, his money, which caused her to neglect her continuous training. She'd neglected her voice altogether! And once she'd become with child, she and her new _husband_ had decided she should quit the stage to supposedly concentrate on her health and the growing child. Then she lost the baby, gone completely mad, and Monsieur Reynard along with Erik had decided it'd be in her best interest to "retire" altogether.

It had incensed Henri. He hated the idea of her marriage to Erik, and he'd hated that she'd become with child and quit the stage because of it! He loathed this man! He wanted him destroyed!

Henri reluctantly continued, his fervent thoughts angering him further.

"Your ambition, my sweet vixen, your voice, isn't—"

Geneviève hastily stood from the bed and slapped him. "How dare you!" She screamed. "After all I have done for us? Marrying that _monster_ so we can live wealthy, privileged lives! Henri, I swear—"

Henri gently grabbed Geneviève's wrists, pulling her upon him on the bed. "Hush, vixen, and listen—"

Geneviève pushed away from him, jumping from the bed. "No! I will not listen! Now, will you kill him or not?"

Henri's eyes widened, his jaw dropped. He loved Geneviève with his entire heart…but to kill a man?

He swallowed hard, "K-kill him, Geneviève? You want me to _kill_ him?"

"He has murdered more than once, Henri. You know this. That monster deserves to die!"

"But he is your husband!"

"And you are my lover! My life, Henri," she bellowed.

Henri froze, floored she'd actually thought of him as her life.

She began swiftly walking toward him, purposely swaying her wide hips. Henri drew in a long breath, his manhood throbbing.

"Come now, Henri," she seductively murmured, crawling upon him. "I have done much for us this last year," she purred, her legs straddling him now. "I married that deformed creature so you and I could have a life of love and luxury, Henri."

"I hadn't even known you'd married him for us—"

"Don't speak," she whispered.

She bent her head and began kissing his chest, her hand crawling toward his inflamed flesh.

Henri groaned, but stubbornly continued. "You told me you married him because you were done with me, Geneviève, because you—oh, God," he moaned as she began stroking him.

"Oh, Henri, you poor soul," she muttered, her touch becoming bolder. She looked fixedly into his eyes. "I will always want you, Henri. I never planned to spend the rest of my life with that freak."

Henri propped up on his elbows, his eyes boring into hers. "You weren't?" He asked incredulously.

She scoffed. "Of course not, lover," she breathed, kissing his taut nipple. "I only wanted his money. I needed his money to take care of…you." She looked up into his eyes, visibly pleading with him to believe her.

_She's an actress, Henri, remember, she is a fucking actress. Don't believe her._

Geneviève lifted an eyebrow as she studied him. Henri said nothing.

He was lost. He belonged to her! She owned him! Yet he sometimes believed he was just the pawn in her morbidly twisted, self-absorbed world.

He was a ridiculously foolish pawn that hadn't left her bed in ten long years.

Henri gasped as Geneviève suddenly took him in her mouth. He thrust his hands in her fiery red hair and fell back upon the bed, his frenzied thoughts suddenly abandoned.

*******

Geneviève cursed herself as she took Henri into her mouth.

_Damn him for being so difficult!_

She needed to enrage Henri, needed him to believe that her true intentions for marrying Erik were for their droll relationship, that her reasons for pursuing Erik hadn't anything to do with her own personal gain.

She had married the musical genius for his money, had pursued him for his masterful art of music. She needed him to compose for her, to help her further her withering career on the stage. She had foolishly hoped her hotheadedness would conquer him, that he'd do for her what he'd done for that Swedish opera whore! She'd never thought he'd toss her aside after she'd lost the child she'd purposely conceived with him, knowing it would force him to marry her!

No matter. Revenge would be hers. She _always_ won, _always_ got what she wanted. She'd never been denied anything in her life. And though it seemed she'd met her match in Erik, she wouldn't dare allow him to win this battle, not on her life. She'd have his blood.

Geneviève wickedly smiled to herself as she continued her delicious performance on Henri, his moaning driving her insane, pushing her thoughts of her philandering husband aside for the moment!

God, the man was a fool but she needed him in her life and in her bed. She needed him to kill Erik! Now that that Daaé bitch was in his life once more Geneviève knew that Erik would want nothing more than to marry her which meant him getting rid of _her._

_Well, I certainly won't have that!_

She'd just have to make sure that Erik was dead before he could divorce her. Then everything would be hers, his money, his home, his music! She'd be a wealthy woman! She'd leave France for America and start life anew.

Certainly, Henri would follow her, he panted for her as if she were a bitch in heat! It was ludicrous! She couldn't stand it yet she needed it! She needed the power, the desire, she had over him. He was her slave and she pined for every moment of his undying devotion.

_Unless Erik killed him, of course, and that could very well indeed be possible, then it'd truly be over,_ she thought suddenly.

The man was ruthless and Geneviève knew that he'd kill for that Daaé girl. He had before.

But her plan was set. She'd decided what must be done during her infuriating return to Paris. She'd manipulate Henri into journeying to Erik's estate outside of Paris, and kill him!

Perhaps she'd persuade him to bring his brother along, too, and if that meant having to seduce him…

Geneviève grinned. Yves was a much better lover then Henri could ever be. It'd be no trouble at all. Seducing Yves would be thrilling and quite rewarding.

_Geneviève, you are an evil woman._

She secretly praised herself as Henri shuddered. She pulled away from him, forcing him to spill his seed upon his smooth belly. Geneviève chuckled as she stood from the bed and walked toward the vanity, picking up the bloody cloth from the floor then throwing it upon him.

"Clean yourself up, lover, and then we shall talk."

She walked to the dressing room and grabbed her chemise, roughly pulling it over her head, desperately wanting to get this seduction over with.

She returned to the bedroom, watching Henri intently as he cleaned and dressed himself.

Henri wasn't the most attractive of men, though he was quite _pretty_. He had interesting feminine features but it was his dark hair and eyes that had once mesmerized her. He was of a light build but his height made up for it. She had cared for him once, perhaps had even loved him. Now she just needed him, it was as simple as that. It drove her mad, his obsessive love for her, but if it meant him serving her disturbingly lascivious needs then so be it. She was content.

Henri sighed, rubbing his hands upon his face as he sat on the bed once more, fully clothed in a white shirt and black breeches.

"All right, Geneviève," he murmured, "tell me what you wish to do. I damn well know you have a plan in that pretty little head of yours."

Geneviève crossed her arms about her chest and walked over to Henri. She sat down beside him, lightly caressing his arm.

"I want you to kill him, Henri. I want you to go to his estate tonight and kill him! It's that simple!"

Henri sighed, taking her hands in his. "I cannot kill him, Geneviève. I don't want his blood on my hands."

Geneviève abruptly pulled her hands away from his. "Yes, you will, Henri! And you will take your brother with you!"

"Yves," Henri exclaimed. "You're mad! He would never agree to this lunacy!"

"Oh, I think he will," she purred viciously. "I really think he will."

"Geneviève—"

"If you don't do this, Henri, I will leave you!"

"You've said that before, Geneviève. Your threats are no longer—"

Geneviève grabbed Henri between his thighs, causing him to groan. "You will," she said through clenched teeth. "You know you cannot refuse me, Henri. We both know you will do whatever I ask of you. Now find your brother!" She screamed, pushing him away from her and standing from the bed.

She began furiously pacing the room. It'd seemed it was time for another performance.

"Henri," she softly murmured, faux tears filling her eyes. "I need you to do this for me, Henri. I need you to kill him."

She walked toward him once more, and kneeling before him, laid her head in his lap. Henri laid his hands in her hair, tenderly caressing it.

"He has hurt me, Henri, betrayed me!" She looked up into Henri's eyes. "And I know I haven't treated you well, Henri. But I need you! I want him dead so I can receive his assets, then you and I can flee to America and truly be together! It'll be wonderful, Henri! Just you and I in America! Think of it, my lovely man! Just you and I," she murmured, taking his face in her hands and chastely kissing his lips.

Henri remained silent. Desperate, Geneviève reluctantly decided to propose one last ploy, hoping to the Devil that he'd believe her.

"I want to marry you, Henri. I want to take care of you. And we both know I cannot sing any longer as I once could. My career is over and my voice was the only way I could have taken care of you. You are right. It's over. And because it's over I need his money, Henri. I need _you._ Let me take care of you, Henri."

His eyes filled with tears. Geneviève secretly smiled to herself, admiring herself once more for another marvelous performance. _You are divine, Geneviève,_ _absolutely divine!_

Henri took her face between his own hands and kissed her forehead. "I'll do it," he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers. "I'll find my brother tonight and we'll ride to that monster's estate. He'll be dead by morning, Geneviève."

Tears fell down her cheeks, her performance strengthening. "Thank you, Henri. I love you."

Henri pulled away from her, his dark eyes boring into hers. "You love me?" He asked dubiously.

"Well, yes, of course I do."

"You never told me before."

She sweetly laughed, laying her hand on his cheek. "I do, Henri, very much."

"Oh, Geneviève," he cried, embracing her. "I love you, too, my vixen."

Geneviève held him for some time, waiting for the opportune moment to dictate what he and Yves must do. After all, she certainly couldn't have the gendarmes coming after her if this all went terribly wrong.

"Henri," she whispered, pulling away from him and sitting beside him on the bed. "You must hear me. We must do this very carefully, very precisely. I have it all figured out."

Henri grasped her hand, kissing it. "I'm listening, my pet."

She laid her head on his shoulder. "I will tell you and Yves how to get to his estate and the layout of his home. I know the exact place for you to secretly enter and the perfect time, when everyone shall be asleep."

Henri nodded, listening intently.

"Once inside, you must find them both! They'll most likely be in his bedchambers if you are to arrive by tonight. Enter through the bedroom that adjoins his dressing room. But no one can hear you enter! You must be especially quiet! You must take them by surprise!"

"Of course, vixen, I won't disappoint you."

"I know," she lied. "I trust you, Henri." She kissed his throat then continued. "Once you and Yves are inside his dressing room you must wait and decide for the right moment. I don't care if you must wait all night. And I don't care how it's done, just do it! I want them both dead!"

"You want the Daaé girl dead, too?" Henri asked hesitantly.

She slammed her fist against the bed, deeply breathing with anticipation and anger. "I want them both dead," she cruelly repeated.

Henri nodded.

They were silent for some time then. Henri gently grasped Geneviève's hands.

"Geneviève," Henri demurely asked.

"Yes?"

"I want his blood, too, Geneviève. I hate what he has done to you. At first I just wanted to turn him into the gendarmes, but now I see that won't be enough. I want to kill him myself. I want him dead!"

Geneviève maliciously laughed. "I'm glad you see it my way, lover, I'm so very glad," she purred, softly pushing him upon the bed and crawling on top of him.

*******

"I cannot believe I'm doing this," a groggy and irritating voice spoke. "You shall owe me big for this one brother."

"Hush, Yves," Henri seethed as they mounted their horses. "You will be immensely rewarded. This man has more money than a fucking emperor!"

Yves scoffed. "Doubtful."

Henri rolled his eyes as the two simultaneously clucked their tongues, signaling their horses into motion.

It'd taken him and Geneviève quite some a while to convince his brother to join them in their risky plan. But once Geneviève had informed Yves of Erik's riches and the award he'd receive for his help, well, Yves couldn't refuse.

_I wonder what else Geneviève_ _had promised him,_ Henri thought miserably, knowing she and his brother had had several dalliances together in the past. It sickened him. _God, who hasn't the bitch had? _

Henri shook his head. _I think the better question is, you fool, is why you have loved her all these years?_

Henri feverishly pushed those mundane thoughts aside, reflecting upon their plan once more.

It had also been decided that at dawn Geneviève would seek out the gendarmes, claiming that the Phantom of the Opera had raped her and forced her into marriage, and that she'd finally been able to escape his sinister home after all these months.

She'd then take them to his estate, alleging that the ferocious murderer had captured her true lover and his brother when they'd come to rescue her, their distraction allowing her own escape. The gendarmes certainly wouldn't be able to resist the idea of finding and arresting the notorious Phantom, they'd be more than willing to follow Geneviève to Erik's home.

Once the gendarmes and Geneviève would make their imminent appearance at Erik's estate, he would hopefully be dead by Henri's own hand, and he and Yves would claim that they'd killed him in self-defense. And if the Daaé girl were to be killed in the process then they would simply blame the Phantom.

Henri groaned. He was still unsure if he was capable of killing the young soprano despite his own plans for her.

After all, Henri had a plan of his own. Not only would he exact revenge upon that brute, but he would upon Geneviève, too, when he'd take the Daaé girl. He only hoped he had the chance before he'd have to kill Erik, for he very much wanted him to witness it. But he knew the man to be extremely dangerous. He may have to kill him within seconds of their meeting in order to protect his own life. But with his brother there—

Henri smirked. It would be done. He'd have that Daaé bitch writhing beneath him, exacting revenge upon Erik and Geneviève all at once. It'd be beautiful.

He sighed, finally resigned. He'd inform Yves of his brilliant plan. Perhaps he'd even want a taste of the wench as well.

Henri looked over his shoulder at his weak brother, who, at the moment, was seemingly falling asleep upon his horse. _Imbecile,_ he thought infuriatingly.

The two were identical twins yet it seemed upon their births that he had received the brains while Yves had received…well, nothing.

Henri shook his head.

No matter. They'd both have the soprano then kill Erik, and it would be done. He'd have Geneviève completely. It'd truly be over.

Together they'd receive Erik's money that was deservedly Geneviève's considering she was his wife and thus inclined to his assets upon his death. Then they would flee to America and marry. It would be magnificent. Henri couldn't wait to officially start his life with Geneviève after ten long years.

"Dear brother!" Henri exclaimed, suddenly excited. "Come here, now. I have much to tell you! I have my own plan and I need you to help me see it through."

Yes, revenge would be his and not a soul in this morose world would stop him.


	22. Haunting Phantasm

_**Chapter Twenty-One: Haunting Phantasm **_

_He wept as he sorrowfully listened to the papier-mâché music box, a monkey dressed in Persian robes carrying symbols, mock him, its song haunting his doomed soul. He fell to his knees, pitifully singing to himself, covering half its face, his small action a mortifying reflection of his deformed face._

_Yet because of his miserable self concentrated upon the cymbal playing monkey, he'd barely heard her light footsteps, her hesitant return. He'd first believed his mind was playing a cruel trick until he felt her presence directly behind him. _

_He swiftly stood and turned, his angel, his love, standing before him._

_They stared at another for a long while, a fervent hope building inside him. He desperately hoped she was returning to him, that despite him letting her go, she realized she loved him and not the Vicomte, that she needed him as much as he needed her._

_He began to walk toward her but immediately stopped as he saw her slowly take off his ring. His heart sank. _

_It was the ring he'd given her in front of all of Paris after she'd revealed him on the very stage they'd passionately shared together only moments before, a ring he gave as he sang love words to her hoping she'd succumb to him completely once more. _

_But it'd been a hopeless attempt. His stolen words of love and devotion meant to persuade her to love him, to prove to her that he needed her love to save him, had been all for naught. His hands had swiftly placed the ring upon her left ring finger, his final plea echoing throughout the Paris Opera House. _

_But her sudden reaction had changed everything. Her shocking and devastating betrayal, her ripping off his mask, had stopped him, had enraged him, had caused him to abduct her, bringing her unwillingly to his eternal Hell._

_And he hated himself now because of it, because of everything he'd done, because of the devastation he brought upon this innocent young girl, his angel. _

_Tears streamed down his face as she tenderly held her hand out to him, visibly returning the ring to him. He stared at her outstretched arm, then at her, his soul completely broken. Her tear filled eyes bore into his. He wept. _

_It was over. It was truly over. She was returning the ring he'd meant for her to wear for always. The ring he meant for her to wear as a symbolic vow of their impassioned love. But he'd failed. He'd lost her. She loved the Vicomte and not him. _

_Yet he made one last attempt, one final plea and declaration, with the small hope that perhaps she could love him still, that she would stay with him._

_He grasped her hand holding the ring, her other hand lying upon her heart. He confessed his love to her for one final time. _

"_Christine, I love you…" _

_He'd never actually spoken those terrifying words before. Perhaps she hadn't any idea that he loved her, perhaps she only felt he was obsessed with her voice and nothing more. Perhaps she hadn't any idea that he wasn't only in love with her angelic voice but that he was in love with the woman as well._

_Yet she only stood there, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, her mouth shaking as she seemingly struggled to respond. _

_Her delicate face was one of despair and astonishment, confusion and grief. He kneeled before her, silently pleading with her to stay and love him, their hands still entwined, the ring between them. _

_They both wept. _

_He could hear her softly weeping as he laid his deformed cheek upon their clasped hands, tears streaming down his own face. He then felt her gently lift him upon his feet. He swallowed hard as she grasped his face between her hands and tenderly kissed him. _

_He froze. She had kissed him once more! But their final moment together ended as quickly as it had begun. She turned away from him and began to leave his Hell to return to the Vicomte, to leave him forever to be with another. _

_But once again he couldn't help himself. He softly spoke her name, causing her to stop. His heart in his throat, he desperately prayed that she had changed her mind._

_She looked at him over her shoulder, their eyes meeting for a fleeting second. He held his ring out to her, hope and despair in his amber eyes, complete sorrow in her hazel ones. _

_Then she was gone. She was gone—_

Erik gasped, hastily opening his eyes, his naked body covered in sweat. He was trembling.

_It was a dream._

He shook his head.

_No, not a dream, but a nightmare._

Erik let out a long breath, his senses returning, as he felt the woman he was lovingly holding pressed against his body. She was still here.

He held her tightly against him.

_Oh, Christine._

It had been a nightmare he'd had many times before. He often dreamt of the night he'd lost Christine, of the night he let her go with the Vicomte. He often dreamt of the moment she'd returned to him, giving him his ring back, and leaving him once more.

It horrified him that despite her sleeping beside him, despite her being with him now and forever, he still dreamt of that ill-fated night.

He sighed. So much had changed since then, _he_ had changed since then.

_For the better,_ he reassuringly thought.

Erik lay still for a moment, listening to his angel beside him. He then gazed upon her, watching her intently, finding comfort in her sleeping figure.

He smiled to himself as he watched her, her breathing steady, her hands entwined under her chin. She had a slight smile upon her face. Erik was utterly smitten.

Unable to resist his sleeping lady, he tenderly grasped a lock of her hair, twirling it about his fingers.

_Don't leave me, angel-love._

After some time of watching his sleeping angel, he let out a slow breath and carefully removed his arm from around her body. He rose from the Persian bed in the music room and quietly dressed himself. He then grabbed Christine's dressing gown from the floor and charily dressed her, not wishing to wake her. She looked so peaceful, so beautiful.

_Angel…_

He smiled to himself once more as he gently lifted her from the bed and began carrying her from the music room.

They'd spent the night there together after Christine had despairingly confessed her fear of never being capable of singing again. It had caused Erik to play an aria from his opera that he'd written for her, with the hope that it'd soothe her, that it'd help her to remember what it had been like between them, her voice and his music as one, how beautiful it had been.

_It certainly had helped,_ he thought wickedly, as he recalled her erotic touch upon her own body as she'd listened to him play, her touch arousing his soul completely.

Erik sighed. It had saddened him though, her disheartening confession. It had truly broken his heart. They'd spent the rest of the night desperately making love, finding comfort in their passion for another.

He had sworn to Christine that she'd sing once more, had promised her that he'd sing with her once again, that he'd tutor her, and together their voices and souls would become one as they had five years ago through music.

Erik bent his head and kissed Christine's forehead as he ascended the spiral staircase that led to the main floor. She unexpectedly smiled, slowly opening her eyes.

He sighed deeply, her hazel eyes captivating him.

"Good morning," she sleepily whispered.

"Good morning," he smiled, bewitched by her sweet innocence.

Christine snuggled closer against his chest, wrapping her arms about his shoulders. She kissed his throat then looked down at her clothed body.

"You managed to slip my gown on without waking me?" She asked curiously.

Erik softly chuckled. "You were in a deep sleep, my love. But I hadn't meant to wake you just now," he bashfully admitted.

She dreamily sighed, laying her head against his chest. "It's all right."

They fell into a comfortable silence as Erik walked them up to his bedchambers, swiftly opening the door. He deftly walked toward the bed, laying Christine down upon it.

Christine kept her arms wrapped around his shoulders, bringing Erik down with her.

"Christine!" He cheerfully exclaimed, as he fell upon her.

"Oomph," she breathed. "You're heavy," she observed, giggling.

"Am I?"

"Yes!" She exclaimed, her face beaming, her cheeks flushed.

"Well, then. Since it seems I have you as my captive, whatever shall I do with you?" He mischievously asked.

Christine's sparkling eyes widened at his playful words.

"You wouldn't dare," she lightheartedly declared.

Erik smiled roguishly at her then began tickling her ruthlessly.

Christine squirmed beneath him, her charming laughter touching the very core of him, her twists and turns of unconvincing escape amusing.

But soon enough, his aimless wanderings became soft caresses, his lips upon her smooth skin, an imminent seduction now upon them.

Christine closed her eyes, slightly arching her back, visibly enjoying the idea of her still being completely at his mercy.

Erik slipped his hands inside her dressing gown, softly kneading her breasts. He then kissed the valley between them, then her navel, through her dressing gown. Christine softly moaned as he then slid his hand between her thighs.

"Erik?" He heard Christine softly call his name after some time.

"Yes, my angel-love?"

She sighed.

Erik could feel her hesitating, causing him to stop. He looked up into her eyes, his chin resting on her stomach.

"What is it, sweeting?"

She reluctantly laughed. "Well, it's just that—" She stopped, letting out a long sigh.

Erik furrowed his brows, concern now upon his face. He lifted himself off her, lying beside her on the bed.

He took her hands in his. "What is it, Christine?"

"Well, I am quite…sore," she quietly admitted. "Do you think, perhaps," she sighed, "oh, I really don't know how to put this."

Erik groaned, laying a hand upon her sweet face, understanding dawning. "Perhaps we should slow down. Is that what you're asking?"

"I think so," she slowly answered. "I want you so much my heart aches, Erik. It's just that, well, my body can only take so much—"

Erik gently laid a finger upon her lush lips. "Say no more, love, I understand. Oh, Christine, I'm sorry. I should have—" He stopped, groaning. "I want you so much my heart aches, too. My body yearns for your touch. I want to cherish you _and_ ravish you all at once! But I should have—" He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I understand." He repeated, tremulously smiling.

Christine lightly kissed his finger. "Oh, Erik," she breathed. "It isn't that I don't want to—"

"Christine?"

"Yes?"

"It's all right. We have the rest of our lives."

She smiled then kissed him softly.

Erik grasped one of her brown curls and kissed it. "Are you hungry?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Starving," she exclaimed.

"Me too," Erik chuckled. "What say you get dressed while I go downstairs and inquire about breakfast? I must speak with Bernard, too," he nonchalantly declared.

Christine looked at him quizzically.

"I plan to go into the city tomorrow morning and I wish for Bernard to look after you while I'm gone."

"Look after me?"

"Well, yes."

Christine arched her eyebrows. "Care to explain?"

Erik rubbed his face in his hands, reluctant to bring up his reasoning for going into the city, it being Geneviève.

"I wish to annul my marriage to Geneviève," he finally admitted. "And I just want to make sure you're taken care of while I'm away. Geneviève is dangerous, Christine. There is no telling—"

Christine laid her hand upon Erik's cheek, stopping him. "Say no more, my darling man. I understand," she whispered.

"Good," he simply said, relief sweeping through him.

He kissed her briefly then emerged from the bed. He hastily grabbed a pair of breeches that lay upon a chair and his white shirt then paused. He turned to Christine, fixedly looking into her eyes.

"Christine?"

"Yes?"

"I promise you, Christine, as long as I'm alive, as long as there is breath in my body, you will be safe," he fervently declared.

She softly smiled. "I know, Erik."

He nodded then slipped off his dressing gown and quickly dressed, aware of Christine's eyes upon him. He smiled to himself, pleased.

"Erik?"

"Yes?" He asked, slipping his shirt over his head.

"Thank you," she shyly murmured.

Erik turned to her. "For what," he asked incredulously.

Christine shrugged her shoulders. "For loving me, I suppose. For understanding," she whispered, gazing into his eyes.

Erik looked at her for a long while then walked toward her. Bending over the bed he gently took her face in his hands and kissed her. "The pleasure is all mine, Christine."

She coyly smiled and kissed him.

Erik caressed her cheek then walked over to an end table, picked up his white leather mask and swiftly put it on. He walked to the door then glanced at Christine one last time, touching his hand to his heart, before he opened the door and left, a smile upon his face.

*******

Christine sighed as she stretched her sore body then stood from the bed and walked to the dressing room, still reveling in Erik's warm touch.

She was most happy and incredibly thankful that he'd understood her small plea. She had been extremely nervous that he'd believe her confession to be an admission of rejection.

She shook her head. He had truly grown, had become secure within his own skin in regard to her. It was beautiful.

Humming to herself, she stood in front of Erik's majestic mirror, grabbing her hairbrush from a dresser. She began carelessly brushing her wild curls, a slight blush upon her face as she thought of the night before.

Erik had saved her, had touched her soul once again.

She'd been reluctant to confess her deepest, darkest fear. For years she'd hopelessly wondered if she could still sing, if perhaps she'd ever sing again. The myriad of possibilities that had run through her frenzied mind had terrified her!

She had never wanted to confide to Erik about it, never wanted him to know that she hadn't sang since the night they had sung together. She couldn't bear his possible rejection, his possible disappointment, if he knew she no longer sang.

And what if she _couldn't _sing any longer? It would devastate her and most especially Erik! It would destroy them both!

Yet he had listened and understood her fear, had given her his sweet devotion, _his _music, once more. It was wonderful.

It felt as if she'd fallen in love with him all over again. His understanding and acceptance, his promise to help her sing once again had literally touched her deep within her core.

His desire and passion, his truth and belief in her had truly saved her, causing her to touch herself, to want to become one with his music, with his soul.

She had never touched herself before in such an erotic manner, had never made love to herself with another.

She softly scoffed, shrugging her shoulders. She'd never made love to herself ever! She'd never thought it possible. Erik had brought out this passionate woman she'd normally be ashamed of, a woman who was comfortable with her body and soul.

Their fingers entwined inside of her had been unbelievable, had been erotically fantastical!

With Erik she felt everlasting, she felt as if she could do no wrong. That everything she'd ever done, or would do, was meant to be divine. He truly made her feel everything.

"Oh," she breathlessly exclaimed as the hairbrush suddenly fell from her hands. "Silly lady," she muttered to herself. "You keep thinking of him and his passion and you'll—"

"Make me want to know more, my dear."

Christine gasped as she turned to find a strange man standing before her, a pistol in his hands.

"Hello, lovely."

"Who are you?" She hopelessly demanded.

The man chuckled.

He wasn't very intimidating, though much taller than herself. He was narrowly built, his mysterious dark eyes and hair contrasting to his light, bony features.

Yet the pistol in his slim hands was enough to terrify Christine.

"Who am I, sweet?" He sauntered toward her. "Why, I am the man who truly loves Geneviève. The man who hasn't left her bed in ten years, the man who shall _kill_ your lover for what he has done to mine."

Christine's eyes widened, her eyebrows arched, as realization came over her.

_Oh God, this cannot be happening! How did he manage to slip inside Erik's home?_

"Henri," she murmured.

His eyebrows shot up. "So you do know me! I am very impressed and thoroughly flattered. Now," he began, gently grabbing her arm. "If you will—you bitch!"

Henri bellowed as Christine smashed her hairbrush against his head. She frantically ran from the dressing room to the bedroom door.

She knew he was upon her. Yet she was so close, so very close. She reached her hand out to the door when a shot rang out.

Christine let out a bloodcurdling scream.

*******

"Bernard," Erik amiably called to his loyal confidant as he strolled down the grand stairs.

Bernard swiftly turned to him. "Ah, monsieur, good morning," he pleasantly replied.

"Indeed." Erik kindly patted Bernard on the shoulder. "I must speak with you, my good man."

"Of course, my friend, of course," he replied. "But first I must apologize for yesterday morning. It has incensed me that I was unable to stop Geneviève! She never should have been able to get to you and Mademoiselle Daaé. I am very sorry, monsieur. It will not happen again."

Erik wrapped a brotherly arm about Bernard's shoulders and began walking them down the hall.

"Yes, well, it was quite inconvenient, Bernard, but it was also a blessing in disguise."

Bernard's eyebrows rose. "Mademoiselle Daaé has forgiven you then?"

"Yes," Erik said slowly. Then with more conviction, "Yes, she has, Bernard."

Bernard nodded his head. "She is a remarkable woman, Erik."

"Yes, Bernard, she certainly is."

They continued walking, an amicable silence between them.

Erik cleared his throat. "I must go into the city tomorrow morning."

Bernard raised his eyebrows once more, his hands behind his back.

"I intend to annul my marriage to Geneviève," Erik explained, "and I wish for you to watch over Christine while I'm gone. There's no telling what Geneviève may do and I want Christine to be safe."

He stopped them in the midst of the hallway and turned to Bernard, laying his hands on his shoulders. "And you are the only man in this world I trust with Christine's life. If I am unable to protect her due to whatever circumstance then I know you will."

Bernard slightly smiled, shaking his head. "Say no more, Erik. She will be safe."

Erik nodded. "Thank you, my friend."

They shook hands when suddenly a gun shot went off, the sound of a chilling scream following quickly after it.

Both men froze.

_Christine. _

Erik and Bernard looked at another then fled. Erik ran quickly upstairs, taking two at a time, murder in his blood, while Bernard ran down the hall, presumably to his room.

Once upstairs, Erik ran down the hall toward his bedchambers, cursing himself for leaving Christine alone.

He knew who was behind this and it terrified him.

_Geneviève, damn her!_

He thought he'd have more time! Not only had he planned to go into the city tomorrow to annul his marriage, but he'd planned to find Geneviève and threaten her. He'd do anything for Christine and if it had meant threatening and perhaps bribing Geneviève then it would have been done. He'd thought of paying her off, not only for her silence, but for her disappearance.

Now it appeared to be too late.

Erik swallowed hard, his body shaking.

_My God, Christine! My angel-love, please, be all right! I only just found you!_


	23. Terror

_**Chapter Twenty-Two: Terror**_

"Henri," Christine murmured.

Henri's eyebrows shot up. "So you do know me! I am very impressed and thoroughly flattered. Now," he began, gently grabbing her arm. "If you will—you bitch!"

Henri bellowed as Christine smashed her hairbrush against his head. She frantically ran from the dressing room to the bedroom door.

She knew he was upon her. Yet she was so close, so very close. She reached her hand out to the door when a shot rang out.

Christine let out a bloodcurdling scream, instantly falling to the floor. She protectively curled herself into a ball, her hands instinctively covering her head.

After a moment she slowly lifted her head, her eyes fixed on the door, her breathing deepening, her body trembling.

He'd shot the now shambled door.

"Just a warning shot, dear," she heard Henri's cruel voice behind her.

She winced as he grabbed her hair, roughly pulling her to her feet.

"Don't run from me again," he growled in her ear.

He hastily walked her toward the dressing room, a frightened but peculiar look on Christine's face as she wondered why he'd bring her here once more.

"You're much prettier than Geneviève said you were." Henri smirked as he ominously circled her, interrupting her thoughts. "Very pretty, indeed," he murmured, grasping a curl of her hair.

"Please—"

"On your knees," he demanded.

Christine stood still, her legs shaking, unable to move.

"Now," he screamed, shoving the pistol against her head.

She winced as the pistol dug into her flesh. She quickly fell to her knees.

Henri suddenly jerked his head toward the door then. Christine, too, heard the potent footsteps running down the hallway that had commanded Henri's attention.

_Erik._

Relief and trepidation swept through her.

"It seems our feature attraction has arrived, my dear."

"Henri, please, don't—"

He viciously grabbed her hair, causing her to gasp, his eyes menacingly boring into hers. "Christine, it would be in your best interest if you'd be so kind as not to speak. This isn't about you, it's about him. I want his fucking blood," he growled. "And I will have it."

He threw her down upon the floor then swiftly hid behind the open dressing room door, the pistol still pointed at her head.

"Don't move," he seethed.

Erik threw open the door, the wrath in his amber eyes startling Christine. She began sobbing when she saw him, terrified that Henri would shoot him in cold blood.

"Christine!" He ran to her, grabbing her face between his hands, intently looking her up and down, visibly making sure she was unharmed. "Who—"

"_Bon matin,_ Erik! So good of you to come! Your lovely mistress was just entertaining me."

Christine felt Erik tense as Henri smoothly emerged from the dressing room.

Erik hastily turned to him, his body protecting hers. "Henri!"

"She is quite _talented,_ Erik. And I've just begun." He venomously continued.

"You son of a bitch," Erik roared.

He lunged at Henri but immediately stopped as another man appeared from the dressing room, a pistol in his hand.

He aimed the pistol directly at Erik's head.

"My God," Christine cried.

They were trapped.

"Perhaps you will rethink your strategy, hmm, Erik? You must have known I wouldn't come alone. You are much too powerful for me to face alone, I will confess."

He chuckled, slightly turning toward his brother, his pistol still upon Christine. "Erik, you already know Yves." He turned to Christine. "Christine, my dear, may I introduce you to my dear twin brother."

"Pleased to meet you, darlin'," the man replied, mockingly holding his hand out to Christine.

Erik growled as Christine backed away from Yves.

"Where are your manners, Christine? My brother won't appreciate that," Henri spoke.

Christine leered at him. Henri merely shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, now," he continued, walking toward Christine.

"Don't. Touch. Her," Erik spoke through clenched teeth.

Christine returned her attention to Erik at his words. He remained completely still, obviously knowing that if he so much as flinched Henri would certainly shoot her, or Yves shoot him, and she knew he wasn't taking the chance of losing his life before he could save hers.

"See, now, there is where you are wrong, _mon ami._" Henri maliciously caressed Christine's hair. "Get up, my dear."

Christine hesitated. She looked warily at Erik. He briefly nodded, his eyes telling her to obey, to trust him.

_I trust you with my life, Erik._

She slowly stood, never taking her eyes off Erik. He appeared calm, his face steady to the untrained eye. Yet Christine could see the fear in his eyes, the anger in his strong body.

"Walk," Henri ordered.

She obeyed him, Henri following close behind her, the pistol following her every move.

Christine suddenly heard Erik move closer behind them but Henri was unbelievably faster. He grabbed her by the shoulders, abruptly turning them to face Erik, the pistol digging into her head. She whimpered.

Simultaneously, Yves had grabbed Erik by the wrist, thrusting his pistol into Erik's back.

"I will shoot her, damn it! You know I will, Erik! You come any closer and I will kill her!" Henri screamed, shaking the walls of the room.

"And I will shoot you," Yves growled in Erik's ear.

Erik stopped then nodded his head, Yves's hand still grabbing his wrist, the pistol still pressed against his back.

"Henri—"

"Don't! I don't want to hear what you have to say you fucking monster! You took Geneviève from me then tossed her aside for this whore! You! A vicious, disgusting man! It makes me sick to imagine her in this very room, in this very bed, screaming for you, writhing beneath your body! Your grotesque face above her! Fuck!"

He screamed and threw Christine against the wall. He pressed the pistol roughly against her head, his arms callously on her chest, holding her against the wall. She groaned.

Henri turned to face Erik who stood there motionless, his brother now standing to the side of him, his pistol aimed at Erik's head.

"Now, Erik, you will know what it's like to hear, to _see_, the one you love more than your own life, _fucking_ another!"

"No!" Erik screamed, quickly marching toward them.

"Don't, Erik!" Christine yelled. "Don't! He'll kill you! Please!"

Erik stopped dead in his tracks at her pleading words while Yves grabbed him by the shoulder, shoving the pistol against his head.

"Shut up!" Henri roared at her. "Just shut up! It's you I'll kill if he comes any closer and he knows it!"

He swung her around him, his arm wrapped tightly around her chest. She shrieked as he pointed the pistol at her head once more.

They were all silent, their heavy breathing the only noise filling the vast room. Erik stared fixedly at Christine while Henri and Yves stared intently at Erik. Christine was terrified, her eyes boring into Erik's.

After a long while, Henri seemed to relax. He nodded at his brother then lasciviously slid his hand down Christine's arm to her waist, resting it on the ties of her dressing gown. Her eyes widened when she realized his intent.

_My God! He's going to rape me! He's actually going to rape me!_

Christine panicked. She began desperately twisting in his arms. Henri held her tighter.

"I don't think so, my dear. You're mine." He harshly whispered in her ear. "You'll enjoy this. Believe me."

Christine swallowed hard. She saw Erik's fists clench.

"Henri—"

"Damn it, Erik! Now what did I tell you?" Henri grabbed Christine by the throat. She gasped. "I will kill her, Erik. Don't move, don't even speak."

Erik breathed deeply but said no more.

"Now, where was I?" Henri sweetly asked. "Oh, yes, I remember now." He murmured, promptly untying Christine's dressing gown.

Christine began twisting in his arms once more. "Don't fight it, Christine." He pointed the gun at Erik now. "Or I will shoot him myself."

She hesitantly relaxed in his strong arms. She stared directly into Erik's eyes and mouthed "I love you" to him while Henri continued to untie her gown, his eyes fixed on his machinations. Yves's eyes fixed on her gown, too. Neither had noticed her desperate gesture.

Tears filled Erik's eyes at her secret words. She saw him roughly swallow.

Christine shivered when Henri finished, the dressing gown laying open, exposing the front of her naked body completely.

"Yes, very pretty, indeed," Henri softly repeated his words from only moments before in her ear. He licked it. Christine cringed.

Henri glared at Erik. "She is very much the innocent beauty, isn't she, Erik? Much more beautiful than Geneviève I think. What say you, brother?"

Yves stared keenly at her, lust in his dark eyes. "Oh, yes, brother. She is a beauty. I must have a taste when you are through."

"I would be much obliged, brother."

They both smirked.

Christine shook beneath Henri then looked at Erik, the murder in his eyes distressing her.

_Please, Erik, don't do anything. Please, love, they'll kill you._

Henri suddenly cupped her breast. Christine drew in a sharp breath. "Yes, I think we shall enjoy this very much, brother."

"Damn you, Henri," Erik softly bellowed. "I will kill you for this."

Henri ignored Erik's threat, his hand slowly moving down Christine's quivering stomach, stopping just above her womanhood.

Christine breathed deeply, abruptly closing her eyes. She couldn't bear to look at Erik any longer, the pain, the desperation, in his eyes, destroyed her.

"Such lovely skin, Christine, so very lovely," he whispered. "Tell me, did the Vicomte enjoy you as much as Erik has?" He scoffed. "I was hidden within the shadows of the dressing room last night, but was terribly disappointed to find neither of you here. I would have quite enjoyed listening to you rutting like a whore with this beast all night. I'm sure it would have been most _fascinating._" He softly shook her. "Tell me, Christine. Was the Vicomte as ravenous, as wanting, as this monster must be?"

Henri and Yves laughed.

"You fucking—"

"My!" He exclaimed, laying his hand upon her mouth. "Such foul language from such a pretty lady," he bit her shoulder, lowering his hand on her stomach once more, swirling it upon her sweat drenched skin. "No matter, my dear, considering _fucking_ is exactly what we shall be doing. I just hope you don't enjoy my brother more than me, hmm? We can't have that."

Yves chuckled. "You have always been the jealous one, dear brother."

"Indeed," he murmured.

Christine screamed as Henri threw her upon the bed, straddling her. Before she had a moment to fight back, his hand grabbed her wrists, laying them roughly on the bed above her head, his thighs pressing hard against hers, the pistol pressed once more against her head with his other hand.

"Don't," Henri began, glowering at Erik over his shoulder. "Don't even think of it, Erik. I will have her or I will kill her. The choice is yours."

Christine saw Yves shove his pistol against Erik's head once more.

Tears were streaming down Christine's face. She hastily shook her head at Erik, pleading with him not to come to her, not to save her. For Christine truly believed it would be Erik they'd kill, not herself. She would survive Henri's rape, but she wouldn't survive Erik's death.

Henri bent to untie his breeches with the hand holding the pistol.

"Now, Erik, perhaps I can show you how it's meant to be done. And you, too, Yves."

Yves scoffed but shoved the pistol against Erik's head as he tried to get to Christine once more.

Henri looked over at Erik, clearly making sure his brother had him under control.

Christine looked at him, too. He was utterly helpless and she knew it killed him. His fists were clenched once more, a shadow of despair upon his face, his eyes filled with fear and rage. Her life was in his hands, his in hers. Neither wanting to risk the other she knew Erik would never forgive himself for this, would hate himself for always for being unable to save her, to protect her.

Henri turned back toward her, his villainous flesh emerging from his breeches. "Now, my—"

Suddenly, Bernard burst through what seemed to be a hidden door within the wall from across the room. Christine screamed as she heard a shot ring out, Henri's bloody body falling upon her.

Erik grabbed hold of Yves's arm, twisting it roughly behind his body. Yves let out a horrific scream as Erik swiftly broke his arm, the cracking bones rippling through Christine's mind.

He threw him upon the ground, Yves pathetically grabbing his arm, as Bernard aimed his pistol at him.

"Don't move," Bernard demanded. He then picked up Yves's fallen pistol.

Erik maliciously grabbed Henri's motionless body, throwing, it too, upon the floor. He then grabbed Christine, fiercely wrapping his arms about her trembling body. She embraced him tightly in return, tears streaming down their cheeks.

"Christine," Erik cried. He grasped her face between his hands and kissed her.

"Oh, Erik," she sobbed, breaking the kiss. "Erik."

"Shh, my darling love, I'm here. It's over."

She felt Erik look over at Bernard. She slightly pulled away to see a furious Bernard now bent over Henri's body, his pistol still pointed at Yves, who laid upon the floor crying.

Erik turned back to her, retying her now blood-spattered dressing gown, covering her shivering body, it, too, covered in blood. He embraced her once more then looked over at Bernard.

"Thank you, Bernard."

Bernard nodded. "I would have shot him sooner, Erik, but I wanted his back to me, or else he would have certainly killed one of you once he saw me, especially with this fool holding a pistol to your head." He motioned toward Yves. "I couldn't risk it."

Erik grunted with acknowledgement. "I know." He shook his head, caressing Christine's hair as he continued. "No matter, you saved us both, Bernard. I shall be forever grateful."

Bernard gently nodded.

Erik looked down at Henri then Christine. He sat up from the bed, taking her into his arms. She clung to him. "I'm going to take her to the green room. Will you please—"

"I shall take care of this mess, Erik, and him," he motioned over his shoulder at Yves who'd apparently passed out from the pain of his broken arm. "Go."

Erik hesitated, looking at Henri once more then Yves.

He nodded. "Thank you, Bernard."

They awkwardly shook hands without another word.

Erik, holding a trembling Christine securely in his arms left the room, slowly walking down the hall to the green room, tears of fear and relief in both their eyes.

*******

Erik hastily entered the green room, promptly setting Christine on the floor, then stormed into her bathing room and prepared a warm bath. He then returned to her and abruptly removed the bloodied dressing gown from her shivering body, throwing it upon the floor,

He fiercely crushed her against him.

They desperately held another for a long while, both trembling within their safe embrace, Erik's soothing whispers echoing throughout the room.

He was livid and terrified yet relieved and grateful. He hadn't felt so many different emotions since he had let Christine go almost five years ago. It pained him that he hadn't been able to save her!

Yes, he knew Bernard was lingering within the secret passageway, one of the many in his labyrinth of a home. Yes, he knew Bernard had been waiting for the opportune moment to kill Henri or Yves, or both. But it destroyed Erik that he, himself, hadn't been able to protect Christine. He hated it!

Erik furiously growled, shoving himself away from Christine. He began pacing the room, running his hand through his hair.

Christine stood silently, intently watching him, wrapping her arms about herself. Erik turned to her and stopped when he saw the concern in her tear filled eyes, her body still trembling.

He walked toward her, and taking her in his arms, brought her into the bathing room, setting her carefully within the warm bath. He grabbed a bar of soap and began vigorously washing her, desperate to remove the blood from her innocent body.

Neither spoke as he continued his machinations. He rapidly scrubbed her arms, her hands, her fingers. He then stood her upon her feet and began hastily washing her chest, her stomach, her legs and feet.

Breathing heavily, completely absorbed in cleansing the disgusting madman's blood from her body, Erik hadn't even realized Christine had begun crying once more, that she had been wincing with pain because of his aggressive touch.

Kneeling before her as he washed her legs, Erik immediately stopped and wept.

"Erik?" He heard Christine speak softly.

Erik let out a long sigh, wiping the tears from his face and eyes.

"Oh, Christine," he murmured, as he stood before her, taking her into his arms once more.

She clung to him, burying her face in his chest. Erik caressed her hair, calming her. He kissed the top of her head then softly started to hum.

He felt Christine slowly relax against him then felt her smile against his chest. Erik found himself smiling, too, pleased by her response.

They stood like that for some time, Erik caressing her hair and humming, Christine clinging to him, her face buried against his chest.

"You knew he was there, didn't you," Christine finally asked, her voice muffled.

Erik swallowed hard then lifted her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.

"Yes, I knew, or else I would have rescued you without a second thought, no matter the consequence of my life—"

"Hush, my angel," she murmured, laying her hand upon his lips. "I already know."

"Perhaps," he groaned. "But Christine I shall never forgive myself for what has happened, for not being able to protect you, to save you! I shouldn't have left you alone! I swore to you that you'd always be safe, and yet, within moments, I failed miserably!"

"Erik, please don't say such things. You mustn't blame yourself! I was safe! Bernard was there! You knew he'd save us both!" She grabbed his face between her hands. "You did protect me! Through your and Bernard's apparent plan I was safe! But it's over now, my love. It's over. I don't wish to speak of it," she whispered, laying her head upon his chest once more. She shook her head. "Not now, I couldn't bear it."

Erik nodded to himself, wrapping his arms about her waist. They held another in complete silence.

After some time, Christine slid her hand down his arm, entwining their hands.

"Erik," she whispered.

She looked up into his eyes, and grasping his other hand, gently sat once more within the warm bath, silently gesturing for him to join her.

He caressed her cheek then quickly began to undress, never taking his eyes off her.

His clothes forgotten upon the floor, he joined Christine in the tub, sighing with resignation. He sat behind her, taking her in his arms, her smooth back against his hard chest.

Christine stretched her legs out, wrapping her ankles about his. She laid her head upon his chest and slowly exhaled. Erik grasped her hands, entwining his fingers with hers. She pulled their hands against her chest.

After a moment she peered at him over her shoulder.

"Erik?"

"Yes, Christine?" He tenderly asked.

"Kiss me."

Tears filled his eyes at her sweet request.

Erik laid his hands upon her shoulders, turning her to face him. She laid her legs upon his thighs, encircling his body with them. Erik grasped her bottom, pressing her closer against his flesh.

He then gently grasped her face between his hands and kissed her. He felt Christine slowly relax beneath his comforting touch, her hands caressing his thighs. Erik desperately wanted her but held himself in check, knowing that that would be the least of her desires at the moment.

For now, Erik knew, she needed his warm embrace, his innocent touch. He needed hers, too.

After some time, they ended their chaste kiss and leaned their foreheads against another.

"I'm sorry, Christine," Erik hesitantly spoke.

"I know, Erik. But you shouldn't be."

Erik began caressing her arms and shoulders. He simply nodded, knowing the subject was truly closed between them, for now.

Henri was dead, and Erik knew Bernard wouldn't kill Yves but would somehow find a way to rid of him. His only worry now was Geneviève. He knew it wasn't over. Erik knew that she'd somehow find a way to destroy him, that she'd come up with some colossal lie to trap him, to possibly have him arrested without her own imminent demise occurring for knowingly associating herself with a murderer.

Erik wrapped his arms tightly about Christine's body as he thought of that terrifying possibility. If Geneviève did manage to find some way of involving the gendarmes then it'd all be over. He'd lose Christine forever!

They could only find him through Geneviève and then they'd certainly arrest him, or perhaps kill him immediately! He'd never been afraid of death before, yet now there was too much at stake.

He couldn't lose Christine now that he'd found her, now that she'd returned to him! He just couldn't! But if protecting and saving her life meant losing her—

Erik swallowed hard.

He had to protect her. For what if Geneviève did arrive with the gendarmes? They'd certainly take Christine as well. Geneviève would surely see to Christine's demise.

Erik shook his head. He wouldn't have it. He'd do what needed to be done to protect her precious life. And if that meant turning himself into the gendarmes, if they should find him, and forcing Christine to flee and start life anew without him in order to disassociate herself with a murderer, then so be it.

"Erik?"

Erik began caressing Christine's back as her voice interrupted his thoughts. He kissed her brow. "What is it, love?"

She stared deeply into his eyes then began caressing his face. She tenderly took his mask off, laying it upon the floor next to the tub.

She kissed his deformed cheek. Erik wrapped his arms about her body in return.

"What was it like?"

Erik froze, her vague question alarming him.

"What was what like?" He asked cautiously, running his hands through her long tresses.

She looked down between their wet bodies, her fingers aimlessly caressing the water.

"To kill another," she replied meekly, looking up at him through her long lashes.

Erik slightly pulled away from her, completely taken aback. He certainly wasn't expecting this question whatsoever. He'd never wanted to have this conversation with her.

He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against hers once more.

"Oh, Christine, you truly don't wish to hear this—"

"I do, Erik. I really want to know. The closest I've ever been to death through villainous means is when you…killed Joseph Buquet and Ubaldo Piangi. Until today," she whispered. "I don't mean Bernard, of course. But if Henri or Yves had succeeded—" She shivered. "It frightens me."

Erik cringed at her words. _Villainous death,_ he thought miserably. Did she truly think of him as a villain?

She pulled away from him, grabbing his face between her hands, her hazel eyes boring into his. "I know you have changed, Erik. You are a wonderful, darling man, and I love you more than my own life! But I must know!"

She leaned her forehead against his temple as he looked away from her. "Why?" She softly asked.

Erik let out a long sigh, pulling her closer against him. Christine laid her head upon his shoulder.

He hadn't any idea where to begin. How could he possibly tell the most innocent woman he'd ever known that he'd killed for her? That'd he'd killed for power and fear? That'd he'd kill again if it meant saving her life? How?

Erik trembled. Would she understand? Would she forgive him for his past? She had already, it seemed. But they'd never spoken of his murdering the drunken stagehand and the overly flamboyant opera singer at the Paris Opera House.

He silently berated himself. How could she forgive him?

He looked down at Christine. She had pulled away from him and was now watching him closely.

Erik tremulously smiled, grasping her chin and gently caressing it.

She deserved the truth. She deserved everything from him.

"All right, sweet one," he breathed. "I shall tell you everything."

She leaned her head against his chest, kissing it briefly.

"It was for me. I do know this, Erik. I've always known this," she reluctantly murmured. "What I want to know is why."

Erik laid his head upon hers. "Oh, Christine, I—"

"Here it is!"

Christine and Erik both tensed as an angry female voice followed by the sound of horses' hooves and boisterous male voices from outside grabbed their attention.

_They had come._

Erik set Christine aside and hastily stepped out of the tub, walking toward the window.

Terror swept through his damp body.

There were well over a dozen gendarmes approaching the château, Geneviève leading the way, fervent determination on their faces, revenge and twisted satisfaction upon hers.

_Damn it!_

He thought he'd have more time. Once again he'd misjudged an ultimately dangerous situation.

Erik breathed deeply as a dark realization came over him.

He was going to lose Christine once again. But this time it'd be forever.

"Erik, what is it?" He heard Christine's concerned voice from across the room, interrupting his thoughts. He hadn't the courage to respond.

Geneviève had won.

Erik would never know what his life with Christine would be like. He'd never know what it'd be like to have her as his wife, to conceive a child with her and hold that child in his arms, a child born of their love.

He'd never hear her sing for him, never sing with her, never compose for her!

He'd never hold her or touch her, never make love to her.

Tears filled his amber eyes.

A serendipitous fate had reunited them, had Christine return to him, only for it to slip through his musician's hands because of his eternally damned soul.


	24. Surrender

﻿﻿_**Chapter Twenty-Three: Surrender **_

"Erik, what is it?" Christine anxiously asked as Erik continued to stare intently out the window.

When he didn't respond, she stood and stepped out of the tub, wrapping her arms about her body, and walked toward him.

She laid her hand upon his back and looked out the window.

Her eyes widened as she saw myriad of gendarmes on horseback coming toward the château, a woman with flaming red hair leading the way.

"My God," she whispered.

Erik shook his head. He turned to her, urgency in his amber eyes.

They stared at another for a long while, a small distance between them. Erik then grasped her wrist, forcing her to follow him as he abruptly left the bathing room, taking them into her dressing room.

Neither spoke as he grabbed a plain muslin dress and swiftly slipped it over her head upon her damp body, causing it to uncomfortably cling to her. He then returned to the bathing room, Christine silently following behind him, fear sweeping through her.

He quickly dressed then placed his mask upon his face. He turned to her, linking their hands and walked them into the bedroom.

Erik continued walking to the door but Christine stopped. She stood there motionless, never taking her eyes off Erik's rigid form, his stoic demeanor terrifying her, as he continued to walk across the room without her.

"Erik?" She warily called his name.

He swiftly turned to her. Christine wondered if he'd forgotten she was even there.

She tentatively walked to him, resting her hand upon his chest.

"Erik," she softly repeated.

Tears filled his eyes as he laid his hand upon hers.

"Christine, I—"

"Erik!"

They both turned toward the closed door as they heard Bernard's frantic voice.

Erik hastily walked away from her, immediately opening the door.

"Erik, the gendarmes—"

"I know, Bernard," he simply said. "Gather the others and take them below. You know what to do. Once you have found them safe I want you to come back for Christine."

Christine furrowed her brows at Erik's words. _Come back for me? And what of you, Erik,_ she fearfully wondered.

Bernard nodded then turned down the hall.

"Christine," Erik whispered as he shut the door once Bernard was out of sight.

"Yes?"

He remained quiet, his back toward her. Panic swept through her body.

"Erik, what is going on? What has Geneviève done?" She demanded. "Tell me!"

She saw Erik breath deeply.

"Christine, they've come for me, and this time—" He paused, slowly turning to face her. "This time I can't escape them."

"No!" Christine exclaimed, storming toward him and taking him in her arms. "No, Erik, you cannot leave me! I won't let you."

Erik fervently wrapped his arms about her body. "Christine, I must."

"No—"

He grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him. Tears began to fall down her cheeks when she saw the deep despair in his glowing eyes.

"Erik, please—"

"Christine, listen to me. You must go with Bernard. He'll find you safe. Then I want you to return to the Girys—"

"No!" She vigorously shook her head, pulling away from him. "I can't! I won't do it! Not without you! We've only just found another, Erik! I won't leave you again! I promised you! I need you with me! And you need me!"

Erik walked toward her, reaching his arm out to her. She stepped away from him, causing him to stop.

"Please, Christine," he spoke miserably. "I cannot let them find you!"

"And what of you," she demanded. "They'll kill you, Erik!" She screamed, turning away from him.

"I know," he softly responded.

Christine froze at Erik's haunting acknowledgment then began sobbing uncontrollably as she felt his hands upon her shoulders, pulling her against his strong body. He was trembling.

"Christine, if they find you here—"

"I know, too, Erik" she sobbed. "They'll take me."

Erik laid his head in her hair. "Yes, they will. And I don't know what your fate may be when they do, Christine. I won't be there to protect you. I won't risk your life, damn it!" He spoke fiercely. "I want you safe."

"Stay with me, Erik," Christine whispered. "Don't leave me. You can escape with us!"

Erik let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. He slowly turned her to face him, wiping her tears from her face.

"I will take the fault for Henri and Yves. I don't want anyone else involved in this. It's over now, Christine."

Christine tensed, pulling away from him. Erik wrapped his arms about her waist, preventing her from doing so. She pushed against his chest. _Damn him!_

"Erik, no—"

"I must, Christine. I must protect you and Bernard and the others. This must end. And only I can do that. If I escape with you they will forever follow! We will never know peace, Christine! We will always be on the run! I won't do this to your beautiful life!" He furiously shook his head. "I will not have you live your life in solitude, in hiding, as I have! I want you to live!" He swallowed hard. "For you, Christine, I will give them my life for you." He kissed her brow. "But you will always have my soul."

"I can't leave you, Erik," she wept. "I can't. It doesn't matter what happens to me."

Erik groaned, taking her face between his hands. He kissed her softly.

"It matters to me," he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers.

They both jerked their heads toward the door as they heard the main entrance roughly open, frenzied voices echoing throughout the foyer, viciously calling out for Erik.

Erik pulled away from Christine, grabbing her wrist and opening the door, leading them down the hall to his bedchambers. He threw open the doors then shut and locked them.

He gently squeezed her arm as he walked past her into his dressing room.

Christine remained in his bedchambers hopelessly wondering what their fate would be in a matter or moments.

She rubbed her hands upon her tearstained cheeks, cringing as she suddenly recalled the terror brought upon them both from only moments before, a terror that would ostensibly never end.

Briefly observing the room, she saw that it was clean once more, no trace of the horrifying incident evident any longer. Bernard was truly a good man, no wonder Erik was willing to sacrifice his life to protect him.

_To protect me,_ she thought, utterly torn between his unselfish sacrifice and their imminent parting.

She crossed her arms about her body as a sudden chill went through her. She drew in a long breath, desperately fighting back tears, when Erik returned.

He quickly walked to her, taking her hands in his.

"Christine," he quietly spoke, as he laid something in her palm, clasping her hands between his.

She hastily looked up into his sad, impassioned eyes as she realized what it was.

"Your ring," she breathed, opening her hand to reveal the same gold ring he'd given to her the night they passionately sung together in front of all of Paris.

The night everything had to end, his music, her voice, their convoluted love affair. Everything had ended on that ill-fated night.

And now it would end once more.

Erik leaned his head against Christine's, grasping her hands.

"I love you, Christine."

Christine shook her head, knowing what his sweet words of devotion truly meant.

"No, Erik. This isn't goodbye. It can't be."

"Hush, love," he whispered, taking the ring from her hand and placing it on her left ring finger.

Christine trembled as he lifted her hand and kissed her finger. She fell into his arms, weeping.

Erik kissed the top of her head, encircling his arms about her waist. "Promise me, Christine. Promise me that you will leave with Bernard then return to the Girys. Please, Christine."

"No, Erik. I won't leave you," she cried.

Erik grabbed her by the shoulders, roughly shaking her.

"Damn it, Christine! You will do this! My fate is sealed! You know this! And I cannot bear to die without knowing you will be safe, without knowing that you will live!"

"And you, Erik? How can I bear to live without you? I don't think I could do it again!"

"You can and you will! You must! For me, Christine, you must do this for me!"

Christine pushed away from him, pacing the floor. Erik reached out to her but froze as they both heard the clandestine door slide open. It was Bernard.

"Erik, it's time."

Erik nodded. Bernard nodded in return then softly closed the hidden door, clearly allowing them privacy.

_To truly say goodbye, _Christine horrifically realized. _Oh God, this cannot be happening!_

Suddenly incensed, Christine lashed out at him.

"Why now, Erik," she seethed. "Why must you play the hero now? Why, when it's too late?" She walked toward him, violently pushing him. "It's just as before! You release me but it's too late! I'm yours! My soul is yours! Yet you release me! Damn you!"

"Christine—"

"Why?" She screamed, falling to the floor.

Erik swiftly walked toward her, catching her before she hit the floor. He held her firmly against his chest. Christine could barely breathe, his embrace overpowering her. Yet she wouldn't yield.

Neither spoke for some time as Erik, breathing heavily, tears misting his eyes, held a hysterical Christine.

"Because I love you, Christine," Erik finally spoke through choked sobs as he succumbed to his unshed tears, "and because you are my lady and my love, my voice and my soul. You're everything to me, Christine," he fervently whispered. "I will have you safe."

"I love you, Erik," Christine sobbed. "Don't leave me," she softly repeated.

"Oh, Christine," Erik groaned as he grasped her face between his hands and passionately kissed her. Christine threw her arms around his neck, tears streaming down her face.

She desperately kissed him, hoping her love, her passion, would convince him to escape with her and the others. Her body, her soul, begged him to stay with her. It didn't matter if they'd forever be on the run, it didn't matter if they'd need to live a life of solitude. All that mattered was that they were together! She needed him, she needed his love! He was her very soul, without him she would be nothing!

"They must be in his chambers! Here! His chambers are above! Henri! Yves!"

Christine and Erik hastily broke their kiss as they heard Geneviève's shrieking voice from below, followed by pounding footsteps within the foyer once more, then upon the grand staircase.

Frightened and panicked, Christine clung to Erik.

Erik wrapped his arms tightly about her body, quickly pushing her against the nearest wall. "I need you, Christine. I need to have you now!"

Christine didn't dare object as he lifted her slightly damp skirts and hurriedly untied his breeches. He roughly entered her.

Both softly cried out as he took her with such desperate longing Christine quivered with pain. Erik grasped her bottom, pressing her closer against him as Christine clenched his arms, her face buried in his neck, her leg wrapped about his hard waist, her stomach churning.

His quick thrusts soon became slow, tender ones as he lightly bit her shoulder, his swift release upon them. Christine shuddered beneath him.

They stood still for only a moment before Erik grasped her face between his hands and kissed her briefly.

"I love you," he declared, kissing her brow. "Now go!"

"Erik!" Christine cried as he withdrew his flesh from her aching threshold and pushed her toward the hidden door.

Erik drew in a deep breath as Christine continued crying out to him, visibly ignoring her plea. He reached over her protesting body as she clung to him, sliding the door open, Bernard simultaneously reaching his arms out to take her.

Bernard firmly grabbed her waist, pulling her within the bleak passage as Erik continued pushing her through, forcing her to obey.

"How can you do this to me? How can you want this?" She suddenly shouted, desperate to keep him with her as long as possible.

Erik stopped. "You think I want this? How can you possibly say that?" He asked through clenched teeth. "Damn you, Christine."

"You must want this! You're my Erik, my Angel of Music! Everything you've ever wanted you've pursued! You've attained! Everything," she screamed.

Erik furiously rubbed his hands on his face. "I cannot believe I'm hearing this. You obviously understand nothing!"

Christine shoved against Bernard, frantically trying to escape him, but his fierce grip wouldn't allow it. She winced as his fingers dug into her waist and arms.

Yet she continued.

"I understand perfectly! You don't love me as much as I love you!" She cruelly declared, purposely hurting him, hating him for leaving her, for letting her go so easily. "Erik, I will never forgive you for this!"

Erik froze at her harsh words, his amber eyes aflame.

_Please, say something! Anything! Please, Erik, just stay with me!_

He turned away from her then briefly looked at her over his shoulder, the sorrow and anger in his clouded eyes destroying her. She saw his fists clench, his jaw tighten.

Then he was gone.

"Erik!"

Bernard promptly slid the door closed as Christine called out to him, darkness enveloping them.

She could hear Bernard's frantic whispers begging her to come with him, but she ignored them as she wrapped her arms tightly about her body and silently wept.

After a moment she felt Bernard's hand grab her wrist, her feet faltering beneath her as he rushed her down the dark hall. She could feel Erik's seed between her thighs as she stumbled along behind the loyal man.

His masculine essence now all she had left of him.

He was gone.

*******

_You don't love me as much as I love you!_

Tears filled his eyes as Erik stood alone within his bedchambers, waiting for the arrival of his impending doom, his mind focused on Christine's heartbreaking words.

Did she truly mean it? Did she actually think he didn't love her just as much as she loves him?

Erik shook his head.

No! She couldn't have meant it! She was upset, terrified! Yet her words had hurt the very core of him. They destroyed him.

He'd wanted to grab her, to comfort her, to hurt her, as her vile words swept through him. He'd wanted to take her in his arms, to viciously make love to her, to prove to her that she couldn't be more wrong.

Yet he had hurt her. His silence, his forcing her to leave him after she promised she never would again, had hurt her.

_My God! I hurt my beautiful angel! You stupid, foolish man!_

Erik turned toward the door Christine had undesirably escaped though with Bernard. He began walking toward it, determined to reach her before it was too late, his foolish mistake claiming his soul.

"In here!"

Erik froze, closing his eyes in defeat, as the door suddenly jerked open, Geneviève's shrilling voice bellowing his name as the gendarmes surrounded him.

It was too late.

The gendarmes viciously grabbed his arms, holding him in place.

It was over. His life, everything, was over.

But Christine was safe. Nothing else mattered.

He would die in peace.

"You monster," Geneviève screamed. "You fucking son of a bitch!"

Erik softly grunted as Geneviève slapped him.

"Where are they? Where is my Henri? Where is Yves?" Geneviève demanded, her blue eyes piercing into his amber ones.

Erik said nothing as he looked past her toward the wall, his mind in another world.

_Oh, Christine, my love, I'm sorry._

Geneviève slapped him again, commanding his attention.

"Answer me!"

Erik glared at Geneviève.

"They're dead," he said simply.

"No!" Geneviève screamed as she wrapped her hands about Erik's neck, choking him.

"Madame," a gendarme shouted, reaching his hand out to stop her. "Madame, you mustn't!" He wrapped an arm about her waist, pulling her away from Erik. "He is a dangerous man!"

"Let go of me!" She shoved the gendarme away from her then returned her attention to Erik.

"I will kill you," she uselessly threatened, Erik knowing that that duty would only fall into the hands of the French government.

Yet Erik was twistingly amused by her idiotic words.

"Get in line," he defiantly growled.

Geneviève's eyes widened. She slowly walked toward him, the gendarmes' eyes fixedly watching them both.

"This isn't far from over, Erik. You may be dead within days but I will still haunt your little opera whore—"

"I swear to you, Geneviève, if you harm her, if you so much as look at her, I will—"

Geneviève maliciously chuckled. "You'll what, Erik? You'll be dead." She turned to the gendarmes. "Take him. Then search the premises. I want Henri and Yves returned to me. They deserve a proper burial, unlike this beast."

"Yes, Madame," another gendarme firmly spoke.

The man turned to the two gendarmes holding him. "Take him. The rest of you shall search throughout the château for the two men, and for whoever or whatever else may need to be found."

"Find the girl," Geneviève ordered.

The gendarmes simultaneously nodded their heads then swiftly turned and left.

"So, where is your precious mistress, hmm, Erik?" Geneviève asked once they were alone, besides the two gendarmes still holding Erik captive.

Erik's eyes bore into Geneviève's. "Leave her out of this, Geneviève."

"I don't think so," she venomously whispered. "I will find her."

She then turned and walked away from him, the gendarmes holding him following quickly behind her.

Frightened for Christine's life, Erik frantically tried to escape the gendarmes, his infuriated mind fixed on Geneviève and her words, when suddenly a shot reverberated throughout the room, Geneviève's body falling to the floor.

The two gendarmes immediately pulled out their pistols as a slender figure appeared from behind the opened door, both forgetting Erik for the moment.

Yet Erik had no desire to escape. He stared incredulously at the man responsible for Geneviève's death.

_Yves._

"That bitch is the reason my brother is dead," he spoke bitterly. "She has been the bane of our existence for ten long years." He looked down at Geneviève. "My brother and I shall see you in Hell. And I intend to make your life in the underworld miserable."

Erik swallowed hard as Yves then pointed the pistol at his own head.

"Monsieur, no," the gendarmes cried out as Yves pulled the trigger, shooting and killing himself.

Tears filled Erik's eyes as death surrounded him.

Yes, it was truly over.


	25. A Gallant Proposal

_**Chapter Twenty-Four: A Gallant Proposal **_

"Please be seated, Mademoiselle Daaé. I shall inform his Lordship of your arrival."

"Thank you," Christine smiled as she sat down upon the lush chaise lounge within the familiar salon.

"Of course," Georges, the dear butler, replied. "Shall I inquire for refreshment while you wait?"

"No, thank you."

Georges simply nodded then turned on his heel to go when he suddenly stopped, turning toward her.

"We miss you here, mademoiselle," he unexpectedly declared, a smile upon his face, "his Lordship especially." He then turned once more, and without another word, swiftly left the room.

Tears misted Christine's eyes at Georges's words. She certainly hadn't expected his furtive confession. It warmed her aching heart.

After a moment she let out a long sigh, absentmindedly twisting Erik's ring about her left finger.

It'd been a week since she'd lost him, since he'd forced her to leave him in order to save her life. It had been one long, miserable week, and Christine was still torn between despair and anger toward Erik.

She was still upset with him for leaving her. He should have escaped with her and Bernard and the others when he'd still had the chance. Damn him for wanting to be the hero! She'd never forgive him for leaving her, knowing he'd be one step closer to his imminent doom.

_Damn you, Erik, I hate you for this! I hate you for leaving me when you know how much I need you, how much I love you._

Christine wiped the frustrating tears that began to fill her eyes as she despairingly thought of him.

_Was this how he'd felt after I left him?_

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. She couldn't possibly imagine how he'd felt when she had left him all those years ago. He had let her go to be with another man, had let her go because he truly believed she hadn't wanted him, had let her go because he loved her.

And once again he'd forced their souls apart because of his love. Yet not because of her love for another man, but because he'd wanted to save her life, and in return she'd selfishly hurt him with her cruel words.

_You don't love me as much as I love you! Erik, I will never forgive you for this!_

Christine cringed. They were words she hadn't meant but had proclaimed because she was scared of losing him, because she wanted him to stay with her for just a few moments longer.

Now he was gone. And this time he wasn't coming back unless the one man who she'd hurt, perhaps even destroyed, could help her, could protect and save the one man he'd been fated to despise.

Christine clenched her rose colored dress at the impending situation.

It had been a decision she'd made with the Girys once she'd returned to them after she'd escaped with Bernard and the others.

Tears filled Christine's eyes once more as she thought of that heartbreaking morning, her frenzied thoughts slightly altered to even more desolate ones.

Within moments of Erik forcing her to leave him through his secret labyrinth, the gendarmes had found him in his bedchambers. Soon thereafter she and Bernard heard a gunshot, followed by another, terrifying Christine, causing her to escape Bernard and return to Erik. Yet Bernard had fairly comforted her when he'd confided to her that he'd released an insane Yves and that it'd been him. He was sure of it.

And sure enough, Bernard had been right. Within days of furtively returning with Bernard and the others to Paris it had been discovered of Yves's murder of Geneviève and then himself, and the capturing of the infamous Phantom of the Opera, the gendarmes now Parisian heroes. Word had spread quickly throughout Paris, the papers reporting upon nothing else. It infuriated Christine. But she hadn't expected anything less.

The President himself had allegedly wanted to speak with Erik personally, to learn of his murdering crimes firsthand and whatever other crimes it was believed he'd committed.

Hence the delay in Erik's sentencing, it being death surely, and Christine's desperate attempt to save Erik's life.

Once Bernard promised her that he and the others were safe, he helped her return to the Girys' home on the outskirts of Paris where she'd stayed for sometime before the three of them agreed that she must return to Paris and seek out Raoul and his brother, in the hope that they'd have the ability to use their power and prestige to persuade the President to release Erik.

If it hadn't been for the Girys, Christine would have never found the courage to return to Paris and pursue Raoul. She'd cried for days, locking herself within a bedroom in their home, not allowing Meg or Madame Giry to comfort her, until they'd forced themselves into her room one day, revealing their plan that would hopefully save Erik.

They had wanted to come with her but Christine wouldn't allow it. She hadn't wanted anyone else involved in this unless they absolutely needed to be. And the Girys certainly didn't need to be. They were her sanctuary now. They were all she had left in this cruel world and if they were found to be alleged conspirators in all this then it'd truly be over.

She'd have nothing.

Now here Christine sat, within the luxurious château she'd once called home, waiting for the man she'd loved since she was a young girl, the man she'd once called husband. The charming, wonderful man who'd let her go to be with the one man she was now asking him to save.

_You selfish, stupid woman,_ Christine thought miserably.

She hated herself for seeking out Raoul, for forcing him to relive the past by asking him to do this. But she couldn't help it. She needed Erik in her life. And she selfishly hoped that Raoul would agree to help her, and desperately hoped that if he did, he'd succeed.

"Christine?"

Christine bit her bottom lip, her unshed tears now streaming down her flushed cheeks as she heard the soft, masculine voice behind her, interrupting her unpleasant thoughts.

She slowly stood from the chaise lounge and turned toward him.

"Christine," Raoul softly repeated, letting out a deep sigh, tears filling his eyes.

"Raoul," she breathed.

She laid her hand upon her chest as she keenly looked at Raoul. He looked magnificent yet a dark sadness filled his beautiful green eyes. It broke Christine's heart. She knew it was because of her.

It had only been a little less than a month since they'd last seen another, since they'd annulled their marriage in order for her to be with Erik. Yet seeing the man who once was her husband suddenly flooded her mind with sweet memories. She had truly missed him.

"Hello, Raoul," she spoke, timidly walking toward him.

She reached her hand out to touch his when he suddenly grabbed her, crushing him to his hard chest.

"Oh, Christine," he murmured, caressing her back. "I'm so sorry."

Christine clung to him, shaking within his consoling embrace.

"I need him, Raoul. They're going to kill him. I…I need your help."

"Shh, Christine, it's all right. I'm here."

They held another for some time, both softly sobbing, neither wanting to let go.

"Here," Raoul finally spoke, "you must sit, Christine."

Christine complied, allowing Raoul to walk her toward the chaise lounge, their hands entwined.

"What happened, Christine?" Raoul asked once they were both seated, his hand stroking hers. "How did they find him?"

Christine told Raoul everything. She told him of Erik and Geneviève's marriage, of Henri and Yves, of Bernard's heroism, everything. Her words were rushed, her body trembling. Saying it aloud, reliving those horrid memories to the one man who'd always sworn to protect her, to always care for her, disheartening her throughout.

He didn't deserve to become a part of this.

Yet Raoul carefully watched her as she spoke, never taking his eyes off her face. She knew her words hurt him yet she secretly wondered if he were indeed relieved that Erik had been captured, that he was likely to be killed within days.

Christine silently berated herself, her shattering thoughts completely ridiculous.

Raoul would never have such thoughts, especially if those thoughts involved hurting her. Yet it didn't particularly mean he'd risk his prestige within the aristocracy to help a criminal. One who'd been the sole reason behind their failed marriage.

"I need your help, Raoul," Christine finished. "I wish I didn't, but I do. I wouldn't ask this of you if I—"

"Hush, Christine. I will help you. How can I not?"

Christine jerked her head up, looking deeply into his eyes.

"You will?"

Raoul squeezed her hands in reassurance.

"You know I will. Though it's going to be difficult, Christine." Raoul looked shamefully away from her, as if he didn't wish for his possible failure to be discovered. "I cannot promise you anything," he murmured.

Christine laid her hand upon Raoul's face, forcing him to face her.

"I know, Raoul. Your wanting to help is enough for me."

Raoul tremulously smiled, taking her in his arms.

"Oh, Christine, I am truly sorry for what has happened. You indubitably don't deserve this."

"One week, Raoul. One week was all I had with him before—" She began to choke upon her words, unable to continue.

"It's all right, Christine," Raoul soothed, caressing her back.

"I love him so much," she blurted out.

Christine felt Raoul tense at her words. She immediately regretted them. He knew her love for Erik yet why had she declared it to him once more, knowing it would hurt him.

She slightly pulled away from him, looking down at the floor.

"I'm sorry. Forgive me," she whispered.

Raoul laid his hands upon her cheeks, wiping her tears. He shook his head, dismissing her mishap.

They were silent for some time.

"The gendarmes aren't after you, are they, Christine?" Raoul quietly asked.

Christine stiffened.

"I don't know." She looked hastily at Raoul. "Do you think—Oh, God," she cried, standing from the chaise lounge and walking toward a grand window. "If they find me, if they arrest me, then everything Erik did that morning to protect me would be in vain! I promised him to find myself safe! My God! I promised him!" She turned to Raoul. "I can't let them find me, Raoul! They'll take me!"

Raoul abruptly stood from the chaise lounge, quickly walking toward her. He gently took her in his arms as Christine simultaneously grabbed him to her.

She was emotionally spent, and the horrid realization that the gendarmes may come after her were terrifying. Erik wouldn't be able to protect her, to save her. And certainly Raoul would do what he could to protect her, but without his name any longer there'd only be so much he could do. Perhaps nothing he could do without the protection of his name.

"I won't let them take you, Christine." Raoul determinedly spoke, interrupting her thoughts.

Christine despairingly shook her head.

"You can't protect me, Raoul. You know this. I no longer have your name to protect me," she sighed, her fears coming to light as she spoke them aloud.

"Then I will give you my name, Christine." Raoul passionately declared, grasping her shoulders, looking down at her. "Marry me, Christine. If it means your protection, if it means saving your life, then marry me. I will have you as my wife once again, Christine."

Christine froze at his words, completely astonished.

"Raoul, I—" She paused.

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. And yet, she could. She knew Raoul would risk his life, his reputation, to protect her. It frightened her that after everything she'd done to him, he'd do this for her. She wouldn't be able to give him anything in return, except gratitude and obligation. And those two circumstances certainly wouldn't justify for an everlasting marriage.

Christine would always love Raoul, he was her dearest friend. But he'd never have her soul and he knew this. She'd never be able to love him as he loved her. Yet he was willing to marry her once more, to spend the rest of his life with her by his side.

Christine bit her lip.

If they failed in saving Erik's life could she truly marry Raoul in order to save and protect her own?

Christine let out a long breath and began slowly pacing the room, fully aware of Raoul's eyes fixed upon her.

She knew Erik would want her to accept Raoul's proposal if it meant saving her life. It was incredibly heart wrenching. She hated it! Loving these two men had never been simple. The three of them were truly bound to another for always.

Erik had to of known that it would possibly come to this. But why hadn't he asked it of her when he pushed her through the secret labyrinth with Bernard? He'd made her promise to return to the Girys yet he hadn't made her promise to return to Raoul, to take his name once more in order to guarantee the safety of her life.

_Perhaps he'd hoped that I'd come to realize it myself._

She looked intently at Raoul. Yes, Erik knew it'd come to this. He knew she'd return to Raoul or Raoul return to her. He knew the gendarmes would come after her. Her only wonder now was why he hadn't asked it of her before she'd escaped with Bernard.

_Because he would be coercing you into a decision you hadn't want to make in the first place. Just as before, all those years ago._

_Make your choice!_

His haunting words echoed throughout her weeping soul.

Christine abruptly turned away from Raoul as the grim realization suddenly dawned on her.

Erik knew she and Raoul would find another once more. Perhaps he wanted her to return to him knowing that Raoul would protect her, and that he'd love her for always. Yet he hadn't wanted to coerce her into a decision, hadn't wanted to force her to choose, to defy him and their love. He knew her well enough to believe that she and Raoul would come together once more, that the gallant Vicomte would protect her for always.

Christine shuddered at the twistingly betraying thought.

She let out a long sigh.

No matter. She couldn't do this to Raoul. She wouldn't. She wanted him to move on with his life. To find another and perhaps fall in love again as she had, to find true happiness and passion once more, he deserved nothing less. And if he married her again then he'd never have that.

Christine wrapped her arms about her body. She stood still then looked fixedly at Raoul.

They stared at another for a long while, their soft breathing echoing throughout the regal salon.

Christine smiled at him, walking toward him. She laid her hand upon his chest, kissing him briefly upon the lips.

"You sweet, foolish man," she whispered, looking up into his eyes. "What have I done to deserve you, Raoul?"

Raoul gently grasped her arms, caressing them.

"Say yes, Christine. Please," he pleaded, leaning his forehead upon hers. "Say yes."

Christine shook her head.

"No, Raoul. I cannot. I won't do this to you. I won't do this to Erik, to myself."

"He would want you to, Christine. If it meant protecting you, we both know—"

Christine laid her hand upon Raoul's lips.

"You are right, Raoul. But I can't. I care for you too much to do this to you. It would destroy you and me—"

Raoul began to protest but Christine stopped him, grasping his face between her hands.

"No, Raoul. Once this is over I will return to the Girys. I shall stay with them until I feel I am safe, and then perhaps pursue life anew, as I had promised him."

"Christine, you cannot possibly mean to live a life of solitude. It's madness!" He passionately exclaimed, taking her shoulders in his hands. "Your life is too special for you to live it in hiding."

"I would have the Girys, Raoul. That would be enough for me."

Christine saw Raoul swallow hard, tears clouding his eyes. He kissed her brow.

"You'd have me, too."

Christine let out a slow breath at Raoul's devoted words.

"Oh, Raoul," she sighed. "Forgive me for bringing this upon you."

"Christine, please. I am forever yours. I will do what I can to protect you."

Christine warily smiled, looking down at the floor.

Raoul suddenly pulled away from her, rubbing his hands upon his face. He began silently pacing the room, inattentively picking different objects up and setting them down again.

Raoul's silence maddened Christine as she desperately wondered what he was thinking, his absentmindedness concerning her.

"Raoul—"

"Promise me," he boldly interrupted, his back toward her. "Promise me, Christine, that you will at least reconsider my offer. That you will think of it more intimately," he spoke softly, turning to face her.

Christine's eyes widened at his words but she silently complied nodding her head.

He then hastily walked to her, taking her face in his hands.

"Christine," he whispered, leaning his mouth toward hers.

Christine breathed deeply, a dark reluctance overcoming her as Raoul's lips lightly brushed hers. His soft whispers unwillingly entrancing her. She began to pull away but Raoul held her close.

"Christine—"

"Ahem."

Both immediately pulled away from another, Raoul thrusting his hands in his pockets, Christine smoothing her skirts.

"Philippe," Raoul shakily spoke through clenched teeth, visibly cursing his brother for his inconvenient appearance. "Whatever are you doing here?"

Philippe stood within the doorway, his arms crossed about his chest, his eyebrows raised.

"I came to see how you have been fairing, little brother. I hadn't any idea you were previously…engaged." Philippe replied, his eyes upon Christine. "Hello, Christine," he amiably greeted her.

Christine tremulously smiled.

"Hello, Philippe," she hesitantly greeted him, hoping he wouldn't be offended by her informality.

He sauntered across the room to her, taking her hands in his.

"I am sorry for what has happened, Christine," he whispered, kissing both her tearstained cheeks.

"Thank you," she said meekly.

"However did you come to be here? It must be dangerous for you to travel at this time."

Christine felt relief as she heard the concern in the Comte's voice. She truly felt safe as long as she had these two valiant men with her.

"The Girys have kindly allowed me to use their carriage. Thankfully it hasn't been recognized as of yet. Thankfully I haven't been recognized as of yet," she whispered, looking down at the floor.

Philippe tenderly squeezed her hands.

"When we heard of the news, Raoul and I immediately thought of what means would need to be taken to help you, Christine."

Christine looked up at Philippe, shock upon her face. She then looked over at Raoul.

"You mean—" She swallowed hard. "You have been planning to help me this entire time?"

Raoul amply smiled.

"Well, yes, of course," Philippe continued. "And why wouldn't we?" He laid his hand on the small of her back, motioning for her to sit. "You are family, Christine. I shall forever think of you as my little sister."

Christine smiled.

"Thank you, Philippe."

Philippe sweetly gripped her chin as she sat upon the chaise lounge once more.

"Think nothing of it, my dear."

The dashing brothers then sat upon the chaise lounge opposite her.

Philippe drew in a long breath.

"We must speak with the Duc de Pomeroy. He has much influence with the President. Not only are they political allies but they have known another for quite some time. They are dear friends." Philippe sighed, grasping an apple from the fruit bowl upon the exquisitely carved table. "If he cannot help us—if he won't help us—then all is truly lost."

Christine looked down at her lap upon hearing Philippe's hopeful yet disconcerting words.

"The Duc de Pomeroy," she breathed. "He sounds quite familiar. How well do you know the Duc, Philippe?" Christine asked.

Philippe sardonically chuckled, briefly looking up at the ceiling.

"Well enough. I loathe the man."

"As do I," Raoul fervently spoke, a look of disgust upon his face. "You shall recall our brief acquaintance with him, Christine, while we were still married? We only spoke with him every so often, and usually in passing, at soirées and small social gatherings and such."

Christine stared at the handsomely charismatic brothers, completely dismayed as she desperately tried to recall the Duc de Pomeroy.

"He is a most lascivious man," Philippe promptly chimed in.

Christine quietly gasped as she realized whom they were speaking of, Philippe's unflattering description of the Duc being one she'd heard numerous times throughout society while married to Raoul, though she didn't know much of him.

She crumpled her skirts in her clenched fists.

"I don't think I like the sound of this."

Philippe reached across the table, gently tapping her knee in reassurance.

"I don't wish for you to worry, Christine."

She uneasily laughed.

"How can I not?"

"Christine," Raoul soothed, "Philippe is greatly admired by the aristocracy—"

"Yes, but not by the Duc," Philippe interjected.

"Now, damn it, Philippe," Raoul breathed. "Why would you say such a thing?"

"Because it is true," Philippe bluntly declared, rubbing the apple upon his thigh. "I shan't give Christine false hope." He roughly bit into the delectable fruit.

"Yet you tell her not to worry! Come now, Philippe!" Raoul threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. He rose, walking to the fireplace that stood in front of them, leaning against it.

Christine stared miserably at Raoul.

"Raoul, please," she pleaded, holding her hand out to him as he turned toward her.

Raoul stared at her outstretched hand then nodded, taking it in his and sitting down beside her. Their hands stayed entwined, comforting Christine.

"What will you do, Philippe?" Christine asked, turning her attention back to the noble Comte.

"I shall speak with him, of course. Raoul you will come with me. Tomorrow we shall journey to his estate—"

"I'm coming with you," Christine declared.

"No!" Raoul and Philippe both bellowed.

"But—"

"No, Christine," Raoul softly reiterated, squeezing her hands, "it's too dangerous for you to be seen within society. Your coming here has been risk enough! And I certainly won't have you in the company of the Duc. I won't allow it."

"You cannot dictate to me any longer, Raoul. You are not my husband," she seethed, wrenching her hand away from his and abruptly standing from the chaise lounge.

Raoul looked down at his feet, her words visibly hurting him. Philippe stared at her incredulously.

Christine laid her hand upon her forehead.

"I'm sorry. My God," she whispered. "What is happening to me?"

Raoul stood, grasping her arms.

"Christine, it's all right—"

"No, it's not!" She cried, pulling away from him. "Raoul, if you had known my last words to Erik—" She paused, desperately trying to hold back her unshed tears. "It was horrible, Raoul. What I said to him. And now what I have said to you?" She wrapped her arms tightly about her body. "I hate this," she whispered.

"Oh, Christine," Raoul murmured, wrapping his arms about her.

Both stood there for some time. Christine slightly tensed as she felt another pair of masculine hands upon her then slowly relaxed.

"Christine," she heard Philippe's strong voice. "We will do all that we can."

Philippe wrapped his arms about her shoulders, Raoul's still upon her waist, Christine sobbing between them, their embraces comforting.

After some time, Raoul lightly lifted her chin.

"Come," he began, as Philippe pulled away from her but began playing with her brown curls with brotherly affection, "you shall stay here until this has ended—"

"Raoul—"

"I won't hear of it, Christine. You shall stay. And tomorrow Philippe and I shall speak with the Duc. Until then I want you here, where I know you will be safe."

Christine nodded her head as Raoul led her out of the salon. She then stopped, turning toward Philippe.

"Thank you."

Philippe simply nodded as Raoul wrapped his arm about Christine's waist once more, escorting her from the room, both glancing at Philippe over their shoulders one last time.


	26. Je l'aime et je le hais

_**Chapter Twenty-Five: Je l'aime et je le hais **_

Raoul softly exhaled as he finally found the courage to stop pacing the dimly lit hall and stand before Christine's door.

He'd wanted to speak with her in private once again all day, unsatisfied with how their conversation abruptly ended earlier in the day due to Philippe's inconvenient appearance.

Now it was late in the evening and after a somewhat discomfited dinner with Christine and his impeccable brother, whom he'd wish would have left them be, he found himself a coward, warily pacing the hall for quite some time, pleading with himself to find the nerve to knock on her door and ask to speak with her.

Shaking his head, he began to turn away, totally despaired, when Christine suddenly opened the door, her face a reflection of subtle amusement.

Raoul cleared his throat.

"Good evening, Christine."

Christine smiled.

"Please, do come in, Raoul. I have been listening to your pacing for the better part of the evening."

"I'm sorry," he quickly replied, utterly embarrassed.

She laid her hand upon his shoulder.

"It's all right. Don't be afraid, Raoul. It's only natural to be nervous. I'm nervous, too."

Raoul let out a long sigh.

"You haven't any idea," he uneasily laughed.

Christine looked at him sardonically.

"I think I do."

Raoul looked down at the floor, shaking his head.

"What a fool I am."

Christine grasped his chin, gently lifting it, forcing him to look into her beautiful hazel eyes that would forever haunt him.

"Raoul," she whispered.

"Yes?"

"It's all right," she softly repeated. "Come in."

Raoul firmly nodded, following closely behind her as she led him into the room and promptly shut the door.

"I hope I'm not intruding."

"Not at all," she said, glancing over her shoulder at him while she walked toward the fireplace, sitting upon a chaise lounge. She patted her hand upon the seat next to her. "Please, join me, Raoul."

Raoul shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly very afraid and extremely anxious as he walked toward the sitting area and sat down next to the woman who would forever hold his heart.

Christine looked beautiful in a simple muslin gown, her brown curls laying carelessly about her shoulders. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off her all throughout dinner and most especially couldn't now. She was so very beautiful in spite of all the sadness in her eyes he'd come to know so well.

Raoul clenched his fists.

A sadness he'd wish he'd never known, never seen. Would Christine ever find peace?

"Raoul," Christine spoke his name sweetly, bringing him back to his senses.

Raoul hastily shook his head.

"Yes? What?" He looked down at his lap shamefully. "I'm sorry."

Christine softly giggled.

"You were looking at me as if I might disappear at any moment."

"Perhaps because you will, Christine-love," Raoul slipped, immediately choking on his words.

_You fool! _

He'd only called her that while they were married. She was no longer his love, his wife! What the hell had made him so careless to call her by the endearing name he'd so blissfully given her all those years ago?

"Christine, I—"

Christine laid her hand upon his as he began to apologize.

"Think nothing of it, Raoul."

Raoul tremulously smiled.

"This is rather difficult."

Christine squeezed his hand.

"I know."

They were quiet then, their rush of emotions from earlier that day visibly flooding both their minds.

Raoul was desperate. He wanted nothing more than to take Christine in his arms, walk her over to the bed, lay her down and take her. He'd wanted nothing more than to touch her and love her and be with her in every sense of their being when he saw her in the salon this afternoon. His heart and flesh ached for her.

Christine laid her hand upon his knee, silently breaking into his thoughts. Raoul slowly exhaled.

"Raoul, I want to thank you for all that you are doing for me. It means everything. I do know how hard this must be for you and it is incredibly selfish of me to come here and ask this of you, but I am forever grateful."

Raoul gently grasped her hand upon his knee, her innocent touch unbearable. He smiled at her, laying his other hand hesitantly upon her soft face.

"I know, Christine," he whispered. "I am here for you always. You know this."

She lightly smiled, tears filling her eyes.

"Yes, I do."

Raoul cleared his throat, their subtle intimacy overcoming his soul. He abruptly stood from the chaise lounge and began distractedly walking throughout the room.

"If Philippe and I do succeed, Christine, wherever shall you go…with him?"

He felt Christine hesitate then heard her ruffle of skirts as she stood from the chaise lounge and walked toward an open window, gazing out into the starry night.

"I don't know, Raoul. I truly don't know. I suppose it depends on the Duc or the President, or both." She let out a long sigh. "This is all so very overwhelming. I don't know what to think at the moment."

Raoul slowly walked toward her as Christine laid her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. She was weeping.

"Christine," he tenderly pleaded, laying his hand upon her arm. "Please, Christine, don't cry. I cannot bear it."

She brushed her tears away, letting out a small laugh. She looked up at him and Raoul knew he'd be irrevocably hers forever.

Her beauty astounded him once more, her sweet innocence still his weakness. Completely overcome, he reached his hand out to her and lightly caressed her face, this time with a dreamy closeness that scared him, with a knowing in his eyes that begged her to stay with him, to lay with him.

Christine laid her hand upon his, pulling it away from her face. She shook her head.

"No, Raoul. Don't do this. Please. You'll only hurt me."

Raoul swallowed hard at her pleading words. He pulled his hand away from hers and roughly ran it through his hair, turning away from her.

"I don't wish to hurt you, Christine," he finally murmured, turning toward her. He scoffed. "I don't think I'm ready for this. Only a month ago did you tell me you are no longer in love with me, quickly followed by a heartbreaking and mortifying annulment, and now—"

He paused, feeling a knot in his throat, tears clouding his eyes.

"Now," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "you are here asking me to save the one man I am forever bound to despise."

Christine flinched at his words.

"Raoul, I—"

"Yes, I know," he abruptly stated, throwing his hands up in the air, "you're sorry. You're always sorry, Christine. And, quite frankly, I hate it!"

He restlessly sat upon the bed, setting his arms on his knees, rubbing his face in his hands.

"Why couldn't you have just gone to my brother?" He cruelly asked, immediately regretting his words as he heard her small gasp. He swiftly looked up at her.

She stood across the room, completely still, her hands wrapped about her body.

"You're right," she simply said. "I shouldn't have come here."

She turned on her heel and began walking to the dressing room.

"Christine," Raoul sighed, quickly following her. "No, please, don't go!"

Christine slammed the door in his face.

"Damn it," he breathed as he leaned his hands against the doorway, his head upon the door.

God, he hated himself! She had come to him, asking for his help, and here he was, practically denying her everything he'd wanted to give.

Raoul roughly pushed away from the door and began furiously pacing the room.

For God's sake! She'd come to him after she'd been attacked and nearly raped, which absolutely crushed his soul! She could have been killed! Had almost been raped! It destroyed him!

Raoul shivered as he thought of Christine being utterly helpless beneath a disgusting, vicious man, her lover standing before them unable to save her, to protect her.

_Damn those three! Damn the wickedness within this world! May they forever burn in Hell!_

Raoul breathed deeply, desperate to keep his sudden anger in check, his focus upon Christine once more.

She'd witnessed murder and death, which she certainly should never have had to go through again! She'd lost her lover, the one man who'd always had her soul, who'd always known her in a way Raoul never could, a man who'd given her everything that defined her charming grace, her beautiful soul.

Raoul should want to help this man, should be indebted to this man for everything he'd done for Christine. He should even be indebted to him for all the horror he brought into Christine's precious life, though it made Raoul shameful for it. But if it hadn't been for that man's obsession, for his inconceivable pursuit of Christine, she never would have succumbed to him.

He groaned at the gruesome thought, though he'd known the dark truth for some time. If it hadn't been for _him_ then he'd never have had Christine. If he hadn't frightened her, hadn't tormented her bewildered soul, she never would have yielded to him on the rooftop of the Paris Opera House that fateful night.

Raoul pushed those shadowed thoughts away, thinking once more of all the good _he'd _done for Christine.

That man had given Christine her voice, his music. He was her inspiration. He'd given her companionship in a time of complete loneliness. He'd shown her passion and devotion, given her his love regardless of it being unrequited at the time. He'd given her everything!

Raoul _should_ be indebted to the man. For if it hadn't been for _him_—and Raoul absolutely forbade himself from ever speaking his name—Christine wouldn't be the lovely woman she was now.

She'd grown into a young, vibrant woman because of this man. He'd been the one who was there throughout the hardest years of her life. It was because of him that Christine was the strong, confidant woman she was now, despite the naïve young girl she'd once been, who'd unwittingly believed that man had truly been her Angel of Music.

Christine was everything because of him!

Yes, it was true she hadn't become this woman through complete innocence, but through darkness as well, yet it hadn't mattered any longer. All that mattered was who'd she'd become because of it.

Raoul rubbed his hands upon his face as this crucially decisive realization came over him.

_This man defined Christine and she needs him in her life. And, damn it, I will make sure she has him with her once more!_

He turned back toward the dressing room, determined to rectify his utter selfishness to Christine.

"Christine," he murmured through the door.

He listened intently, praying she'd come to him, that she'd open the door that seemed to symbolize the silent barrier that would always come between them.

"God, what a selfishly, weak man I am," he sighed. "Please, Christine, come out. Open the door."

Raoul held his breath as he saw the door handle slightly turn. He swiftly stepped back, granting Christine space if she chose to reenter the bedroom.

She did.

Christine slowly opened the dressing room door, hesitantly stepping into the bedroom. Raoul's heart sank as he saw the tears steaming down her face, causing tears to fill his own eyes.

He quickly blinked them away.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I am so damn sorry," he breathed, walking to her and taking her in his arms.

Christine came to him freely, wrapping her arms about him tightly.

They stood there for a moment in complete silence as Raoul held her, softly rocking her, hoping desperately that his touch would comfort her once more.

"I love you, Raoul," Christine quietly spoke after some time.

Raoul tensed, completely taken aback.

"You do?" He breathlessly asked.

Christine carefully pulled away from him, cupping his face with her delicate hand.

"You know I do. I need you, too, Raoul. I wish you could understand that. I need you both in my life." She looked away at him. "I need you both for very different reasons," she said slowly. "But I do need you, Raoul. You're my friend."

Raoul breathed slowly, the intensity of her small confession overcoming him.

He grasped her face between his hands and kissed her brow.

"I need you, too, Christine." He paused. "I'm glad you're here. Despite the circumstances," he hastily added as Christine grimaced. "I'm glad you came to me. I hadn't meant what I said earlier about my brother."

Christine tremulously smiled.

"I know, Raoul. I have put you in an unimaginable predicament."

Raoul nodded.

"Yes," he cautiously admitted. "But I'm not sorry for it. Not really."

Christine furrowed her brow.

"Not really?"

Raoul sighed, taking her hand in his and walking them to the chaise lounge.

"I hate him and yet I love him, Christine." He bluntly declared once they were settled upon the chaise lounge.

Christine's eyes widened at his surprisingly bold statement.

"Hate, I understand. But, love, Raoul," she breathed incredulously, shaking her head. "Whatever do you mean?"

"What I mean is that if it wasn't for him, Christine, you wouldn't be the woman I'd fallen in love with all those years ago, the woman that I still love and adore. I need him alive, too."

Christine lightly flushed yet Raoul could see the confusion and concern in her bright eyes.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

Raoul squeezed her hands.

"I don't suppose I do, either. But I'm trying," he spoke softly, sheepishly looking into her eyes.

"Go on," Christine warily implored.

Raoul hesitated for a moment, knowing how difficult it'd be to speak of her father, of her past, especially after the terror and despair she'd gone through in just a short time.

"You lost your father when you were very young, Christine."

Christine looked away from him, visibly fighting back tears, her mind more than likely in another place now.

Raoul grasped her face in his hands.

"Stay with me, Christine. Please."

He saw Christine swallow hard then slowly look at him. She took his hands in hers, laying them upon her lap. She nodded.

"When you lost him you were brought to the Opera House where…_he_ took you under his wing and became a surrogate father figure to you, despite his compelling you to believe he was your Angel of Music."

Christine looked down at their entwined hands, his words obviously distressing her.

"Erik," she suddenly muttered. "Please, Raoul. His name is Erik."

Raoul sighed but reluctantly complied, damning himself for so easily succumbing to her, for prevailing his own desires. Yet he knew he couldn't help himself. He belonged to her. There'd never be another. He was her slave.

"Erik."

Christine shakily smiled as Raoul spoke the man's Christian name, the word very foreign on his tongue. For now that he acknowledged the man's name, it truly meant that he existed, that he wasn't an immortal apparition that haunted him for five long years. He was a man.

Raoul breathed deeply and continued.

"What I'm trying to say, Christine, is that you are _you_ because of…Erik. He watched over you as you grew and became this exceptionally magnificent woman."

Raoul softly chuckled to himself, looking away from Christine for a moment.

"I don't think he'd ever realized himself how beautiful and exquisite you'd become," he coolly admitted. "For if he had any idea how innocently tempting, how_ passionate_, a woman you'd become, he'd never have spent such intimate time with you as a young girl. It would have driven him mad as he anxiously waited for you to become this passionate woman so he could have you completely."

Christine looked up at him, utterly puzzled.

"Trust me, sweet, I know. I am a man. Just as he. Remember, we both love the same woman. We both _know _you."

Christine timidly bit her lip. She slowly nodded her head.

"I think I understand."

Raoul smiled.

"I owe him everything that I am, Christine. Because of you," he whispered. "Your two souls are one. I hadn't seen it before, or perhaps I had but just didn't want to see it. But it's true. You are everything because of him. And he is everything because of you. Everything he has ever done has been because of you."

Christine raised a perfectly shaped brown eyebrow, her hazel eyes suddenly glowing with suspicion.

"Raoul," she gently began.

"Yes?"

"Have you spoken with him while he's been locked away here in Paris?"

Raoul vigorously shook his head, aghast by her inquisition.

"My God, no, Christine, I haven't! I certainly would have told you if I had."

Christine exhaled slowly.

"Yes, of course. I shouldn't have asked. It was very foolish of me."

"No, it's not," Raoul slowly spoke, understanding completely now. "He's told you this, hasn't he?"

Christine nodded, tears falling down her cheeks.

"Yes, he has," she whispered. "He told me that everything he's ever done was for me, that I'm everything to him, just as you said."

"You possess his soul, Christine. You are his soul." Raoul insisted. "He is yours. Just as I'm yours, Christine," he guardedly admitted.

Christine jerked her head up, visibly astonished by his admission. She looked deeply into his eyes for some time.

"Raoul," she reached her hand out and cupped his face.

Raoul leaned into her innocent touch, lightly kissing her palm. She smiled.

"Raoul, you will find another—"

"I don't want another, Christine. I want you."

Christine looked away from him, dropping her hand from his face and wrapping her arms about her body.

"Please, don't do this."

"No, I won't. But you must understand." He shrugged his shoulders. "I am just as Philippe. He loved Odette with his entire being, so much so that he refuses to open his heart again, refuses to love another. He simply can't." He paused. "And I shall refuse to love another, too."

Christine shook her head.

"No, Raoul. You cannot. You deserve the love of another, you deserve everything. I want nothing more than your happiness—"

Raoul laid a finger upon Christine's lips.

"You will always have my heart, Christine. Knowing you are happy is enough for me. Your happiness defines mine, which is why I'm helping you. I know you are nothing without Erik. So how can I not help to save his life?"

Christine remained silent. Raoul sighed when it became clear that she still refused to look at him, his confession undoubtedly disconcerting her.

_Perhaps I should be more direct?_

Raoul nodded his head.

"You told me of this vile Geneviève woman, Christine."

Christine winced at the name. Raoul took her hands in his, softly stroking them. He looked deeply into her eyes, silently wondering if she were all right.

"It's all right. Please, continue."

Raoul nodded, their hands still entwined.

"You told me how Erik had discovered a lust in his heart that he'd been unable to lock away."

Christine stood from the chaise lounge.

"What has this have anything to do with your love for me, Raoul?"

Raoul stood before her, gently grasping her shoulders.

"One can lust for another, can yearn for another, yet not love another, Christine. Erik never loved that woman. He's never loved another but you—"

"Yes, but he was never happy, either!"

Raoul looked up at the ceiling, desperately trying not to become frustrated with Christine's sudden stubbornness.

"Perhaps not," he said. "But that doesn't mean his flesh spoke otherwise. He always wanted you, Christine, always loved you, yet he is just a man. He has needs. But he was still forever yours just as I am forever yours. I shall never love another woman, shall never want another woman as I want you, never. But I know I will find lust in my heart one day as Erik had. I am merely a man. And whoever that woman may be shall perhaps sate my aching flesh."

Christine tensed at his bluntness.

"But," he continued. "It doesn't mean I won't always be yours. Even if you don't want me in return," he quietly declared. "I will always want you, Christine, always need you, will always love you. But it would be selfish of me to give another woman my name knowing it'd be in vain."

"Erik gave another his name," Christine softly observed.

"Yes, he did. But it's because he's an honorable man. A good man," he fervently stated, surprised by his own words.

Christine looked dubiously at him.

"For that is the only way I would give another woman my name, too, Christine. If she were to become with child, _my_ child, then how could I not? I most certainly would want the mother of my child to want for nothing, to be taken care of." Raoul paused. "Erik and I aren't so different, after all."

Raoul felt immense relief as a smile formed on Christine's graceful face. She swiftly looked at him.

"No, I suppose not. You are both good men."

"And we both love you, Christine. We both want you happy. I will never love another. I know another will not make me as happy as you had, but knowing you are happy is good enough for me, too."

"Oh, Raoul," she breathed, laying her head upon his chest and wrapping her arms about him. "Thank you, Raoul, thank you so very much, my sweet man, for helping me to understand. But I truly do hope that you shall find another one day. I don't want you to be alone."

Raoul wrapped his arms strongly about her lithe form, suddenly at a loss for words, his emotions overcoming him, tears filling his eyes.

He'd meant every word. Yes, he'd never want another woman yet it didn't mean he'd never _know_ another. Yes, he may give his body to another but he'd never give his heart. He knew he'd never be truly happy again, as he had been with Christine, but it hadn't meant he wouldn't try. But he could never give another woman all of him. He absolutely refused to do so.

He was obliged to Christine for understanding. It was difficult to admit to her that he'd always long for her, always want her, even if he had another woman in his bed. He couldn't help himself. He belonged to her.

Christine would always have his heart and soul. No longer would she be the one he'd sink his aching flesh into and become one with, but she'd forever hold his heart and that was enough for him.


	27. Philippe’s Story

_**Chapter Twenty-Six: Philippe's Story **_

Christine began frantically twisting Erik's gold ring about her finger as she anxiously waited for Raoul and Philippe's return from their daunting meeting with the Duc de Pomeroy. They'd left early in the afternoon and had been gone for quite some time. She was restless.

Throughout breakfast Raoul, and Philippe, who'd spent the night at the château, reassured her that everything would be fine. They certainly hadn't promised success but their words had been rather comforting.

Yet here she was, excessively pacing the library, a few books spread about it because of her inability to read through an entire chapter of one without becoming impatient and thus selecting another, her frustration and concern amounting.

She breathed deeply as she heard the sudden patter of rain, bringing her attention toward the grand window. She sat upon the lavishly cushioned bench before it, laid her chin in her hand upon the windowsill and closed her eyes, letting the rain envelop her, hoping for it to soothe her aching soul.

It did.

Christine had fallen asleep for quite a while, finding herself tenderly awakened by Raoul's soft touch upon her shoulder, Philippe sitting within the sitting area behind him, his arms upon his knees, his face in his hands, the moonlit night decorating the library with a soft glow.

She blinked several times, her voice hazy with sleep, her mind still lost to her deep slumber.

"Raoul," she sighed pleasantly.

Raoul tremulously smiled as he lightly pushed aside a curl from her face. Christine then saw the defeat and sorrow in his eyes, jolting her fully awake. Raoul shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Christine," he simply said.

Tears filled Christine's eyes. She looked away from him, turning her attention to the seemingly everlasting night. Her world now forever enclosed by darkness.

Raoul sat down beside her, staring fixedly at her. He gently took her hands in his.

"We tried, Christine. We offered him everything we possibly could in return for Erik's freedom." Raoul slowly exhaled. "He just wouldn't yield."

"Of course the son of a bitch wouldn't yield! Not to us." Philippe scoffed, abruptly standing from the chair and thrusting his hands in his pockets. "He's a selfish and lascivious man. We could have promised him a king's ransom and he still wouldn't have acquiesced. Not to that. Not to anything having to pertain to money or materialistic items. What we could give him wasn't even close to what he truly wants."

Christine furrowed her brow at Philippe's words, turning her attention toward him.

"What do you mean?"

"Philippe, don't. Just don't." Raoul sternly spoke.

Christine hastily turned to face Raoul, who was glaring at Philippe.

"Don't what?"

Philippe sighed then walked toward them and delicately grasped Christine's chin. She uneasily looked up at him.

"Forget I said anything, my dear." He leaned his forehead against her brow. "I'm so very sorry, Christine."

Christine nodded, faintly smiling.

"It's all right, Philippe. I know you did all you possibly could. I'm forever grateful to you both."

Raoul squeezed her hands as Philippe squeezed her shoulder and walked back toward the chair he'd been sitting in before. The three remained quiet for some time yet Christine's attention stayed upon Philippe. She knew he was hiding something.

Her mind was reeling. She had truly believed, deep in the back of her mind, that Raoul and Philippe would return to her triumphant, perhaps even with Erik! They'd been gone all day, surely that had meant something!

_Obviously not,_ she thought miserably. _Now what shall I do? I cannot live without him!_

She sighed as her frenzied thoughts began to take over her mind, her attention still fixed upon Philippe, his mind visibly reeling, too.

Christine shivered as Raoul gently grasped her wrists, slightly frightening her as his subtle touch intruded into her dismal thoughts. She jerked her face toward him, his green eyes burning through her own.

"Whatever shall you do, Christine?"

Christine bit her lip as she stared intently at Raoul in return. She shook her head.

"I-I don't know. Return to the Girys, I suppose." She nodded her head slowly. "Yes, that is exactly what I shall do. I promised him I would," she whispered.

Raoul reached his arm out to her, cupping her face in his hand.

"Have you reconsidered my proposal, Christine?"

Christine swallowed hard then opened her mouth to respond when Philippe's voice from across the room came forth.

"Proposal," he dubiously breathed, walking toward them once more. "Raoul, you asked her to marry you?"

"Yes," Raoul firmly stated. "I did. I promised her the protection of my name if you and I failed."

Philippe ran his hands through his hair, clearly exasperated.

"Philippe," Raoul adamantly continued. "Now that this is truly over, now that we know for certain there is naught to do for Erik, the next logical step is to insure Christine's safety. And the only way she can be guaranteed protection is through a marriage to a man with a respectable name, preferably with noble blood. We both know this! So how can I not give Christine my name once more? She was there when the gendarmes arrested Erik that morning! She has been the centerpiece of this mayhem since the beginning, since he'd become a wanted man at the Paris Opera House! They will want her! And I will do anything to prevent that!"

"I am not disagreeing with you, little brother." Philippe let out a long sigh then shook his head. "Never you mind. Forget I said anything."

Christine abruptly stood then, completely aggravated and extremely exhausted, her temper finally getting the best of her.

"Do I not have a say in this? Listen to the two of you! You both speak as if I am not here! It's absurd!" She turned to Raoul. "Raoul, I cannot marry you again! You know this!" She then turned to Philippe. "And, Philippe, damn it, I want to know what you're hiding from me! I know damn well there is another way to save Erik! I can see it in your eyes, in your entire demeanor!" She swiftly walked to the skeptical Comte. "Now tell me," she asked through clenched teeth.

"No, Christine." Raoul bellowed as he grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him. "It won't happen! So what does it matter?"

Christine shrugged away from Raoul's grasp.

"_What_ won't happen?" She nearly screamed. "Please, someone tell me! Whatever it is! I am not a child any longer! I will do anything to save Erik's life! I love him and am nothing without him! I would think you both could understand that!"

Tears streaming down her cheeks, her face flushed with anger, Christine fell into a chair, dropping her face in her hands, her body trembling.

Philippe was the first to speak. He kneeled down before her, carefully taking her hands away from her wet cheeks, forcing her to face him.

"Christine—"

"No, Philippe. I will tell her."

Philippe turned to Raoul, wrath reflecting in his deep green eyes.

"No, Raoul." He resolutely stated.

Raoul looked as if he were to protest but dejectedly dropped his arms to his sides and fell into the chair beside them.

"Tell me, Philippe." Christine softly demanded.

"There is another way to _persuade_ the Duc to grant Erik freedom."

"Yes, we've established this," Christine said dryly. "What is it?"

Philippe licked his lips, his hesitation apparent.

"You, Christine," he said simply.

Christine furrowed her brows then gasped.

"My God," she breathed. "No! There must be another way!"

Philippe sorrowfully shook his head. Christine feverishly stood from the chair.

"Christine—" Philippe began.

She hastily shook her head, wrapping her arms about her body. She began furiously pacing the room.

"No!"

Raoul stood then, reaching out to Christine, but she roughly pushed him away.

"I refuse to believe this! Perhaps I can just speak with him—"

"No, Christine." Philippe firmly said. "It won't be that simple. Nothing is ever simple with that despicable man. Giving him your body will be the only way."

She swiftly turned to face Philippe.

"You've known this all along, haven't you?" She turned to Raoul. "And you?"

Raoul shamefully nodded.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She fumed.

"Because there is always hope, Christine," Raoul quietly observed.

Tears filled Christine's eyes as Raoul's words swept through her.

"We wanted to protect you." Philippe spoke. "You've dealt with enough evil in this world, Christine."

"You've always seen the good in people," Raoul gently continued. "We didn't want to burden you with the truth. The Duc is an evil man, Christine. We didn't wish for you to know this completely, what he's capable of is unfathomable. We—"

"We," Philippe smoothly interrupted, taking Christine's hand in his. "We didn't wish for you to suffer any longer, Christine. We want you safe. And your seeking an audience with the Duc is incredibly dangerous. It'd mean you going alone. It'd mean you being at his complete mercy. And that is a risk my brother and I are not going to take. It would mean you forever suffering if you complied."

"Your life is all that matters now, Christine." Raoul grasped her other hand. "We will see you safe."

"I don't believe this."

Philippe sighed, turning away.

"He ruins lives, Christine. He _purposely_ ruins them," he reiterated as he turned to her once more. "You will be nothing but a conquest to him, a game, knowing that for the rest of your life you will always remember him as the man that destroyed you…and Erik."

He suddenly walked to her and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. Christine winced as his fingers dug into her flesh, his anger terrifying her.

"Is that what you want? Erik's life in return for your life forever disgraced, for you always secretly hating yourself for your betrayal? No matter that you'd done it to save his life!"

"Philippe—" Raoul began to intrude but Philippe wouldn't have it.

"For that is what will happen, Christine," Philippe furiously continued. "That man won't only take you, Christine, but he will _destroy_ you, and Erik, too. Is that what you want? You will risk Erik's love if you do this! Believe me! A man would rather die than have the woman he loves willingly give herself to another man in order to save his life. Trust me! He would rather die!"

He abruptly pushed himself away from Christine, walking vigorously about the room.

"Are you all right?" Raoul whispered, laying his hand upon Christine's shoulder as she stared disbelievingly at Philippe.

Christine turned to Raoul.

"He's right," she whispered.

She pulled away from Raoul then walked toward the closed library door. She stopped for a moment, fear and despair sweeping through her at Philippe's impassioned speech, glancing at him for the quickest of moments.

_What has the world done to you, Philippe?_

She then grasped the doorknob, opened the door and quietly left the room.

*******

"What the hell was that?" Raoul roared after Christine left the library.

He marched toward his brother and pushed him.

"Damn you, Philippe! First you volunteer yourself to tell her that sleeping with the Duc de Pomeroy would be the only collateral to Erik's freedom!" He roughly pushed him again. "Then you berate her and tell her you won't allow it because it will cause Erik to no longer love her!" He continued pushing him. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Stop it!" Philippe screamed as he grabbed Raoul's shirt.

Raoul gasped at Philippe's sudden violent reaction.

"Philippe—"

"Just stop it." He said through clenched teeth, shoving Raoul away from him.

Raoul shook his head then sat down as he watched his brother intently. He'd never seen such anger come from Philippe before and it alarmed him. He knew Philippe to be a passionate man but he never fathomed that he'd ever see him like this.

"What is the matter with you?" Raoul softly asked after moments of agonizing silence. "You had no right to treat her that way."

Philippe rubbed his face in his hands then walked toward Raoul and fell into the chair beside him.

"Because I know she'll do it."

"What?" Raoul asked revoltingly. "No, she won't."

"Raoul—"

Raoul hastily rose from the chair and stood before his brother.

"You're wrong, Philippe. Christine would never do something so atrocious. She'd never defile herself, even if it were for Erik's life."

Philippe looked up at him. Raoul held back a gasp as he saw the tears misting his brother's eyes.

"If I remember correctly, dear brother, not so long ago she had sacrificed her innocent life for yours, never truly knowing what her life would become in Erik's eternal Hell. Who really knows what would have become of her then? He'd gone completely mad!"

"I don't think for one second that he'd ever defile her, Philippe! That he'd every truly hurt her!"

Philippe shook his head.

"You did then. Things may have changed now, Raoul. But we both know that Erik was capable of anything then."

Raoul deeply sighed, defeated.

"You're right." He simply agreed. "But I daren't believe that Christine would surrender her body to save—"

"Wouldn't you, Raoul?"

Raoul stiffened, completely taken aback.

"Wouldn't you give yourself to another woman if it meant Christine's life, just as she had given hers to Erik's for yours? Wouldn't you, Raoul?" He quietly repeated. "All the while knowing that you'd be risking their hate, the loss of their love, that you'd forever furtively hate yourself for it? Yet if it meant their life then wouldn't you do anything to save them?"

Raoul slowly exhaled.

"God, I don't know."

"I think you would." He shrugged his shoulders. "I would. I would have done anything for Odette. If giving my body to another woman meant saving Odette's life then I would have done it without a second thought. I would hate myself always for it, but I'd hate myself even more if I had known there was a way to save her yet refused to do so. I would have done anything for her." He passionately declared.

Raoul turned on his heel and began walking about the room, abstractedly picking random objects up and putting them back down. He knew his brother was right, he was just too afraid to recognize the dark truth.

After a moment, he swiftly turned to his brother.

"You're right." He finally admitted. "I would."

Philippe nodded.

And Raoul knew in his heart that Christine would do the same for Erik. If she had the power to save his life then she'd do so by whatever means necessary.

Raoul tensed as the grim realization came over him. He began hastily walking toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Philippe's strong voice came from behind him.

"Where do you think? To stop her," Raoul implored.

Philippe's hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder. Raoul hadn't even realized how close he was to him. He froze at his commanding touch.

"No, dear brother," Philippe gently said. "I will speak with her."

Raoul turned to Philippe, staring dubiously at him.

"You will do nothing of the kind after the way you just _spoke_ to her." Raoul mocked.

Philippe uneasily chuckled then squeezed Raoul's shoulder.

"Raoul, there is nothing you can say that will change her mind—"

"We don't even know if she has decided to or not, Philippe! She never said as much! How can you know—"

"Raoul," Philippe gently interrupted. "She will. Now let me handle this. Please, little brother."

Raoul stared warily at his brother's pleading eyes. He became suddenly frightened. He felt as if there was something horrific Philippe wasn't confiding to him, as if he'd been through this situation before.

Philippe began leaving the room, bringing forth Raoul's attention from his dreadful thoughts.

"Philippe—"

"You will not fight me on this, Raoul. You may speak with her once I've gone."

"Fine," Raoul complied through clenched teeth. "But I don't like it at all."

Philippe said nothing as he turned on his heel and left an empty Raoul alone in the suddenly dark and frigid library.

*******

Christine hastily wiped the tears streaking her face when she heard a strong knock at the bedroom door.

"Please, Raoul, I wish to be alone." She pleaded.

"It's me, Christine."

Christine froze as she heard Philippe's voice from the other side of the door, surprising her.

"No, Philippe." She sharply spoke.

Philippe suddenly opened the door that she thoughtlessly hadn't locked.

"Yes, Christine." He simply stated as he walked in and promptly shut the door.

Christine crossed her arms about her chest and defiantly turned away from Philippe as he began walking toward her.

"I don't wish to hear a lecture, Philippe."

"Then you shan't. I have something I want to tell you."

"I'm sure I cannot stop you. Please, indulge me."

Christine waited for some time for Philippe to speak. Yet his long silence soon became disheartening, causing her to glance at him over her shoulder. She froze as she saw the unexpected pain in his estimable eyes, tears clouding them.

"Philippe," she tenderly inquired as she fully turned toward him.

Philippe walked over to her and gently cupped her cheek. Christine tremulously smiled at his innocent gesture then watched him fixedly as he walked to a window and gazed out at the night sky, his mind clearly in another time and place.

"Ten years ago, Christine, a year before Odette died, she and I traveled to Rome." He quietly began.

Christine's eyes widened. Philippe had never spoken of Odette to her before. She only knew of the exquisite woman and the besotted husband who adored her through Raoul. They had been irrevocably in love with another and her sudden death had nearly destroyed Philippe. Raoul had always said Philippe lived through the motions of each day since he'd lost Odette. That he was never truly there, not really.

Christine remained silent as Philippe slowly continued.

"I have an estate in Rome and we both ventured there one autumn with the idea of enjoying a much needed fantastical escape together."

Christine saw Philippe briefly smile, causing her to smile, too. He breathed deeply as a single tear began to fall down his cheek. Christine vigilantly walked closer to him. She reached out her arm to touch him but then thought better of it.

"One night she and I attended an opera." Raoul grinned. "She loved art, Christine, most especially in the musical form." He briefly turned toward her. "She would have loved you, would have fallen in love with your voice."

Christine smiled.

"I'm flattered."

"You should be," Philippe kindly agreed. "She knew everything of music and the arts. She was a very passionate woman." He wiped the sudden tears that spilled forth. "I loved her with everything I am, Christine." He fervently declared.

Pushing her earlier doubts aside, Christine laid her hand upon Philippe's shoulder. Surprising her completely, he laid his hand upon hers, firmly grabbing it.

"One of the actresses had noticeably spotted me amidst the performance that night and throughout the entirety of it kept her eyes attentively upon me when she was able to do so. I became quite uncomfortable and knew Odette had noticed, too. But she never said anything. She knew I hadn't eyes for anyone but her. They always looked, but I never cared. I never so much as glanced at another woman once I'd found Odette. I never wanted another, and I still don't."

He paused, turning wholly toward Christine.

"After the performance, while leaving the Opera House, an old acquaintance found me. I was completely shocked but extremely happy to see him. It'd been quite some time. He'd offered for a late supper to catch up and speak of old times but I hadn't wanted to intrude upon Odette."

He miserably sighed as he began distractedly caressing Christine's cheek.

"Being the wonderful wife she had always been, she insisted upon me going and promised that she wouldn't mind in the least. Well, I certainly couldn't deny her anything, and so I found myself obliging her and my good friend. I saw her off then joined him at a restaurant nearby the Opera House. It was walking distance so I asked our footman to return to the Opera House upon seeing Odette safely home. Fool," he softly breathed to himself. "I never should have returned to that damn Opera House!"

Philippe swallowed hard as he began choking on his words. Christine grasped his hands in hers.

"Come, sit down, Philippe."

Philippe hesitated but complied as Christine began walking them toward the chaise lounge. Once seated beside another, Philippe firmly held Christine's hand, clearly finding comfort in a familiar touch.

"I returned to the Opera House later than I had intended but thought nothing of it. But as I began walking toward my carriage that damn actress suddenly appeared! It's as if she was waiting for me, Christine!" He exclaimed.

Christine furrowed her brows as Philippe's story began to sound oddly familiar.

"Being a gentleman, I asked if she were all right, and when she said nothing, I continued walking toward my destination." Philippe shook his head. "She wouldn't have it."

"Oh God," Christine breathed.

Philippe stared intently at her.

"You already know."

"I think I have an idea, an awful idea. Oh God, please, Philippe, tell me I'm wrong! Tell me that I'm terribly, terribly wrong!"

Philippe shook his head, squeezing her hand.

"No, Christine, you're not. It was Geneviève."

Christine gasped, immediately standing from the chaise lounge.

"My God, I cannot believe this!"

Christine began trembling, causing Philippe to rise from the chaise lounge and take her in his arms. They clung to another as Christine came to realize that the vilest of women would forever link her and Philippe together.

"She threatened me, Christine. She threatened Odette! At first I thought nothing of it! She was just an actress while I am a powerful Comte. She was no one to me! And Odette and I were only to be in Rome for a few more days. I never thought I'd see this woman again upon our return to Paris. So I ignored her threats and quickly began walking to my waiting carriage once more."

Christine shook her head against his chest.

"But it wasn't over."

Philippe rested his chin upon Christine's head.

"No, far from it," he murmured. "Years before, Odette had endured a tragic mishap that would forever bring scandal to her name if it'd been discovered. It had occurred while she'd been in southern France, just a few years before she'd met me, and it was believed that all who'd been involved would never speak of it to anyone, too terrified of disgracing themselves and those that were associated with them, their families and such."

He swallowed hard.

"Geneviève had known of it. And her threats suddenly became too serious for me to ignore."

Christine furrowed her brow, suddenly confused.

"I don't understand. If Geneviève had been one of those involved, certainly Odette would have recognized her upon the stage at the Opera House that night."

"It wasn't Geneviève. It was Henri."

Christine tensed then slightly pulled away from Philippe's embrace as she looked into his intense eyes.

"Henri? They must have just met another, he and Geneviève. Erik said they'd been lovers for just ten years."

Philippe nodded.

"They had become lovers that summer. They'd only known another for a few months I'd come to find out later, when I devoted myself to finding them after Odette died. I wanted revenge."

"That isn't who you are though, Philippe."

"No, it's not. I stopped my pursuit of them just months after I began researching their lives so I could understand them better and hopefully find them faster. But I couldn't do it. I knew Odette would never forgive me for killing them in cold blood."

They were silent then, a shiver running through Christine as Philippe's unraveling story flooded her mind.

"Whatever was Odette doing with a man like Henri?"

Philippe uneasily laughed.

"Would you believe me if I told you that Henri was a much different man than he was when you'd encountered him?"

Christine raised her eyebrows at Philippe's inquiry.

"Yes, I would, actually. Geneviève obviously changed him."

"That she did, my dear. Henri had been a good man once, until he met Geneviève. Trust me, I had researched them thoroughly. Odette told me, too," he murmured. "They had only been acquaintances, but Odette had always enjoyed his company."

Christine laid her head upon Philippe's chest, utterly floored, completely at a loss for words.

"Geneviève and Henri were desperate for games," Philippe continued. "They always sought to ruin lives because of their own miserable ones. I wasn't their first victim I had come to find much later," he briefly added before continuing with his unsettling story.

"Henri had seen Odette at the Opera House that night before the start of the performance. Well, he immediately informed Geneviève of it and confided to her what had occurred that wretched night all those years ago between him, Odette and several others. And together they both agreed that Odette's appearance would give them an opportunity to conceive another one of their schemes as part of their twisted and morbid games."

"What happened?" Christine asked breathlessly, unable to hide her vast curiosity.

"Geneviève threatened to journey to Paris and expose my wife completely."

Philippe paused for a moment.

"You must forgive me, Christine," he added, grasping her face between his hands, causing her to look up at him. "But I truly do not wish to tell you of what had occurred that night with my wife in southern France. I don't wish to disgrace her name. It isn't my story to tell, though I know you wouldn't—"

Christine placed her hand upon his lips, stopping him.

"I understand. Have you told Raoul then?"

Philippe shook his head.

"I've never told another living soul. Odette hadn't either, except for me, of course."

Christine nodded.

"Go on."

"Right," he exhaled. "When Geneviève claimed to have knowledge of what happened to Odette I became terrified. I threatened her! For God's sake, I had never threatened a woman! It was against everything I believed in! I demanded that she tell me how she knew of Odette and that damning incident." Philippe scoffed. "And she did! She simply told me it was Henri. She told me she wanted money from me and then she'd just disappear, never to bother me again."

"It wasn't enough, though, was it?"

Christine felt Philippe tremble. She held him tighter.

"It's all right, Philippe. You aren't alone in this."

"She wanted my body, too, Christine. It wasn't about the money I had offered. It was the game. She wanted Odette destroyed just as Henri had been. For Henri had apparently taken the full brunt of what had occurred that ghastly night."

Christine looked up at Philippe as he began to weep. He suddenly dropped to the floor, bringing her with him.

"Shh, Philippe, please," she soothed, grasping his head against her chest and caressing his hair. "It's all right."

Philippe desperately wrapped his arms about her body.

"I didn't know what to do, Christine. I had never felt so violated in my entire life, so helpless. I am a powerful and prestigious Comte for God's sake! How could this mere woman destroy everything I had ever cared about in a matter of moments?"

"She is an evil woman, Philippe. Erik had succumbed to her, too."

Christine felt Philippe's head nod in acknowledgment upon her chest.

"I felt like such a fool for giving into her. No one would ever take the word of an actress over a Comte! I should never have taken her seriously but she knew everything of that night, her details were astounding! And before I knew it, she was taking me by the hand and leading me to a side alley, her skirts lifted, and I was inside her!"

Christine winced at his bold words but said nothing as Philippe continued to weep.

"It was over quickly, I don't even think I'd finished, how could I? Then Henri emerged from the shadows, a pistol in hand, commanding me to hand over everything valuable I had on my person. I did. I gave him everything. Then Geneviève patted my cheek and they were gone."

Philippe held Christine closer.

"I was an automaton in those short moments and soon found myself running after them, pleading with them to stay away from my wife and foolishly asking where I was to give them the money I'd offered. I still wasn't convinced that what she'd done to me would be enough! I became hysterical! I was terrified for Odette's life! Never had I been a weaker man in that moment," he breathed heavily. "Then that fucking woman turned to me and said that my body had been enough, and thanked me for humoring her! That fucking bitch," he choked upon his words.

Philippe was quiet for a moment. When he spoke once more his voice was barely above a whisper.

"Then they were gone and I had never heard from them again."

"Oh, Philippe, I am so sorry. I am so very sorry."

Philippe embraced Christine harder. She could barely breathe.

"When I returned home, Odette instantaneously sensed that something was wrong. I told her I had been robbed but hadn't the courage to tell her the entire truth. Not until we returned to Paris."

"Did she forgive you?" Christine cautiously asked.

"Yes, she did, Christine. But I could never forgive myself. I betrayed her! Yes, I had done so because I wanted to protect her. But I know I hurt her in the process and it killed me! What I did has haunted me for always. I will never forgive myself." He paused. "We never spoke of it again."

Philippe pulled away from Christine, roughly taking her face in his hands.

"Despite her forgiveness, Christine, I truly believe that she would have rather faced scandal than have had me give my body to another woman. But I couldn't. I simply couldn't take the chance of possibly sitting by and watching her vivacious life wilt away because of something that had occurred when she was just a young, naïve girl. No matter that she was a well beloved Comtesse. You know how cruel society can be! I simply couldn't allow that possibility! I had sacrificed and disgraced myself for her! She'd been through enough before she met me and I couldn't allow her to—" He began weeping, unable to go on.

"It's all right, Philippe. You don't have to speak of this anymore."

Philippe roughly shook his head.

"Christine," he firmly began, "I know I cannot stop you from seeking an audience with the Duc, because I truly believe you will, but I want you to know of the pain it will bring to you and Erik if you do…sleep with him. I want you to know that."

He paused, wiping the tears that began to fall down her cheeks at his impassioned words.

"Christine, if you do this, I know that Erik will come back to you, whatever doubts you may have, whatever you may think, he will come back to you. I know that you two are forever one, that you are irrevocably bound to another. But, damn it, Christine, if you go to the Duc I want you to know that the true risk you're taking isn't losing Erik's love as I had ruthlessly said to you before in the library, though he shall perhaps never forgive himself for inadvertently putting you in this situation."

He sighed, pulling her into his arms once more, gently caressing her hair, his voice suddenly soothing.

"I had wanted to dissuade you completely from contemplating the possibility of sleeping with the Duc but have found in my heart of hearts that I cannot. You are just like me, Christine. I know you will do anything for the one you love. I fear I cannot convince you otherwise. I wouldn't dare convince you otherwise."

He gently grasped her shoulders, forcing her to look at him once more.

"The true risk is that you will forever hate yourself, you will forever wonder if you could have done something differently to protect the one you love. You will heal after some time, and Erik's love will certainly help you. But deep inside of you will be your soul screaming out for release, for redemption! It will kill you! But he will forgive you. He will. Yet you still must understand the consequences, Christine, for they can be deadly! Do you understand?"

Christine slowly nodded. Philippe kissed her brow then grabbed her to him, clenching her tightly to his chest once more.

"Be careful, Christine, my dear, sweet sister."

"I will," she softly promised.


	28. Le Duc

_**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Le Duc**_

Christine stood before the Duc de Pomeroy's door, prepared to do what she must to save her beloved.

_Perhaps my charm will be enough._

She shook her head at the foolish thought.

It had been Philippe who'd miserably informed her of the only way to save Erik after he and Raoul had failed to convince the Duc to do so. And if Philippe was right, it meant her sleeping with the wicked man. She'd never forgive herself for it, but she couldn't let Erik die, either. She simply couldn't. If it meant saving his life then she'd do anything in her power to do so, even if it meant losing his love.

_I just hope you'll forgive me, Erik, for I may, indeed, find myself living without you after this._

Christine lifted a shaky hand and softly knocked. She then swiftly smoothed her skirts and hair as she waited with dreadful anticipation.

She'd worn what she knew to be an incredibly scandalous gown, its color the darkest orange she'd ever seen, which she'd only bought this morning. It exposed the curves of her breasts most provocatively, the bodice of it being much too tight. The sleeves of the gown were very thin, exposing her smooth shoulders, and the skirts did much to flatter her hips and legs, considering how sensuously it clung to her petite body. She wore too much rouge for her liking, and her hair laid seductively about her shoulders, her brown curls falling enticingly down her back and around her face.

She was a pure temptress, a consummate actress, a woman who hadn't even recognized herself.

Christine swallowed hard.

_God, I hope he wants me, and yet I hope he finds me repulsive._

She sighed, abruptly turning away from the door. She looked about for the hackney driver she'd furtively hired to drive her to the Duc's and slightly nodded to herself as she'd found that he'd listened to her. She had asked him to wait around the corner for her return, and considering he was no where to be found, must have done so. She hadn't wanted anyone to recognize the de Chagny carriage or the Girys', which had been the reason behind her hiring a hackney. She hadn't wanted anyone to know of her audience with the Duc.

Yet there was one man who knew of her daring decision to seek out the Duc: Philippe.

Christine blinked back the sudden tears that misted her eyes as she thought of Philippe's heart wrenching story from the night before. It had truly crushed her soul.

_Damn Geneviève! _

She had never wished ill of another soul in her entire two and twenty years until she'd met that evil woman. And now that Philippe had confided to her of his miserable encounter with her, Christine despised her further.

It had meant everything to her, Philippe's dark confession. His truth had made her feel as if she and Philippe were kindred spirits of some kind. She knew how devoted and in love he had been with Odette, how much he still loved her though she'd been physically gone from his life for years. It touched Christine.

She was forever grateful for Philippe's confidence in her, for his story and his warning. Yet despite his protection of her, Christine was still very wary, still very frightened. She was desperate to save Erik's life yet she had arrived to the Duc's home with much trepidation. She was absolutely terrified that Philippe would be completely wrong. That Erik would never forgive her for this, that he wouldn't come back to her, that he wouldn't…_love me._

Christine shivered at the thought, wrapping her arms about her body.

She then thought of the other wondrous man who'd stayed by her side these last couple of days, the man whom she hadn't told of her decision to see the Duc, knowing he'd forbid her from doing so.

_Raoul, my friend, _she thought.

Christine softly smiled.

Raoul was her friend, truly, and she was happy for it. After everything that'd occurred between them, she still had his companionship, his sweet love. It was wonderful.

She then slowly exhaled as she thought of his reaction once he discovered her decision to seek an audience with the Duc. She'd have to face him. There was no doubt of that. She only hoped he wouldn't hate her for it. She was already risking one man's love. She didn't think she could live in this world alone if she lost Raoul, too.

No matter. Once this was over she'd thank Raoul and Philippe both then return to the Girys. With or without Erik alive was entirely up to her. His fate was in her hands.

She groaned then tensed as she heard a click on the other side of the door. She turned to see it slowly opening, a rude looking butler standing before her.

"May I help you, madam?"

"Y-yes, please," she responded meekly. "I wish to speak with His Grace."

The butler's eyebrows shot up as he eyed her dubiously, visibly judging her attire with reproof.

He opened the door wider, leering at her.

"Your servant, madam, please, do come in."

Christine quietly entered the grand home, crossing her arms about her suddenly chilled body.

"Just one moment while I inform His Grace of your arrival, Mademoiselle Daaé," he tartly spoke.

Christine hastily turned to face him, her skirts swishing about her. She stared at him with wide eyes.

"You recognize me, monsieur?"

He cleared his throat.

"I know you to be the _former_ Vicomtesse de Chagny."

He spoke "former" with such malice that she truly believed it was his way of implying that she had better not forget she was no longer a member of the aristocracy, but a nobody, a measly actress.

No matter. She held her head high and spoke with complete politeness.

"Yes, monsieur, you are correct. I hope you aren't too upset by it." She said sweetly, a sly smirk upon her face.

"Indeed," he replied dryly, his hands firmly behind his back. "I shall inform His Grace of your arrival. He has been expecting you. Please, mademoiselle, allow me to show you to the salon."

Christine bit her lip. _He's been expecting me? That cannot possibly be good._

She exhaled as she followed the butler to the salon.

Once there, he motioned his arm for her to enter then promptly disappeared without a word, without a simple offer of refreshment.

"Well, then," she irritatingly muttered under her breath as she sat upon a chaise lounge.

Philippe and Raoul were certainly right. The Duc de Pomeroy's home was nothing more than a brothel of maddening lasciviousness, no matter how highly esteemed and admired His Grace was in politics and society. She especially realized this as she examined the boldly designed salon.

Christine sat for a long while, anxiously waiting for the Duc's appearance. She'd seen him a number of times before during her marriage to Raoul, and while he was a very handsome man, he was also a quite daunting one. She and Raoul had only spoken with him every so often, much to Raoul's disapproval. He'd wished they'd never had to speak with him at all. But duty had called. There'd been no way out of it then.

And now, it seemed, there'd be no way out of it. She only hoped the Duc didn't recognize her.

_But if that damn butler had…_

She groaned, crunching her skirts with her fists, her unease becoming more prominent as she waited. She then heard footsteps coming toward the room, causing her to quickly stand from the chaise lounge.

Christine rolled her eyes when she found it to be the butler once more.

"His Grace desires that you join him in his bedchambers, mademoiselle."

"What," Christine gasped. "That would be highly improper!"

"Improper, mademoiselle," he scoffed. "You are a woman of the stage! Everything you do is _improper._"

Christine clenched her fists. She could feel her face burning with frustration.

"I'm so sorry you feel that way, monsieur."

"It isn't just my feeling—"

"Indeed," she growled. "Just, please, take me to His Grace, if you will be so kind," she mocked.

He scathingly bowed.

"Of course, mademoiselle," he conceded.

"Thank you."

Christine dutifully followed the offensive butler down the hallway to the foyer, then up the grand staircase, and down another hallway until she found herself standing before two immense black doors, gold trim decorating the engraved designs.

Her stomach churned.

"His Grace's bedchambers, mademoiselle, please, _enjoy._" He quickly bowed then turned on his heel and left, Christine hearing him maliciously chuckle as he turned the corner.

Immediately livid, she began marching down the hall after him when she felt, then heard, a commanding presence behind her.

"Mademoiselle Daaé," came the strong, sensuous voice, "please, do come in. I have been _longing_ for you all morning."

Christine tensed at his words. She drew in a long breath then swiftly turned to the Duc de Pomeroy, a faux smile upon her face.

"Your Grace," she acknowledged, elegantly curtsying. "Thank you for seeing me."

"The pleasure is all mine, mademoiselle. Please." He held his hand out for her.

She stared at it for some time then hesitantly laid her hand upon his.

"Thank you," she said simply.

He charmingly smiled at her as he placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and escorted her inside his bedchambers.

"Is there anything I can get you—ah, may I call you Christine, _chèrie?_ Or would you prefer Mademoiselle Daaé, hmm?"

Her back was to him when he spoke. She heard him shut the door and lock it. She bit her lip. _I'm never going to get out of here._

She bravely turned to him.

"Christine, please."

He smiled.

"Christine," he breathed. "I do love the way your name sounds on my lips, mademoiselle."

The Duc kindly lifted her hand and kissed it. Christine held back the urge to snatch it from his grasp as his tongue grazed her knuckles.

"Christine."

"Your Grace."

"Oh, no," he began, patting her hand. "You must call me Alexandre. There shall be no formalities between us, yes?"

Christine politely nodded.

"Of course, if that is what you wish."

"_Desire,_ Christine, it is what I _desire._"

She wanted nothing more than to slap him. Instead she responded with a simple, "Yes, Alexandre," and sweetly smiled.

He stared at her for some time, keenly eyeing her from head to toe. She briefly closed her eyes and subconsciously licked her lips.

_It was time._

"Do I approve, Your Grace?"

"Alexandre," he charmingly whispered as he walked toward her, "Alexandre, _ma chère._"

"Alexandre," she softly repeated.

He lifted his hand and caressed her cheek with the back of his finger.

"So beautiful, Christine, so _very_ beautiful," he muttered. "I do approve, indeed."

Christine closed her eyes, hoping the Duc would think she was enjoying his touch when she wanted nothing more than to run and hide. She hoped he couldn't see through her charade.

"I understand there is something you want from me, Christine," he pleasantly observed, his hand now touching her hair. "What is it, _ma chère? _ I want nothing more than to help you."

"You don't even know what it is I am asking, Alexandre. You don't even know me. How can you say you want to help me," she asked flirtatiously, leaning into his touch, hoping her façade of wanting him would help.

It did.

He softly laughed, visibly charmed.

"Oh, but I do _know_ you, _ma chère_. I most certainly do."

_Damn! He does recognize me._

She swiftly opened her eyes, staring uncertainly at him.

The Duc de Pomeroy was a tall man, his aristocratic features intimidating. She knew him to be eight and thirty. Philippe had informed her of his age, among other things. His eyes were an emerald green, his curly hair dark brown, presently pulled back in a queue. He was splendidly built, his physique paralleling one of a Greek god.

He was impeccably dressed in a black coat and rich breeches. His dashing green vest brought out the green of his eyes, his white shirt flawless. There was no denying Christine's attraction to the man, yet she found his charm and arrogance completely revolting.

She suddenly wondered if the rumors were true, if the Duc had had every woman he'd ever wanted in Paris and then some. Surely he'd never been denied anything or anyone in his privileged life.

She silently laughed to herself. _He and Geneviève would have been perfect for another. I wonder if he had her, too. And if so, who won that battle?_

"You know me?" She pleasantly asked. "I must admit I'm flattered, Your Grace."

"Alexandre, Christine, my name is Alexandre."

She timidly smiled.

"Forgive me."

The Duc slid his hand down her neck, lightly caressing it.

"All is forgiven, my sweet." He tapped her nose then walked away.

Christine cringed.

"Please," he motioned to a chaise lounge sitting in front of a vast window. "Sit, Christine. You must sit. I shall get you some wine."

She slowly walked to the chaise lounge, listening to the clinging of glasses as the Duc prepared her drink, his too, apparently.

She heard his swift footsteps then inadvertently flinched as he leaned over her from behind, placing the wine glass in front of her, his hand stopping her from fleeing altogether.

"Shh, _ma chère,_ do not be afraid of me," he whispered in her ear.

She tremulously smiled, taking the glass from his hand.

"Thank you."

Christine tensed as she felt his eyes upon her. He was precariously close.

"You smell lovely, Christine. You enchant me."

She blushed.

"You are much too kind."

He gently squeezed her shoulder then walked around the chaise lounge to sit beside her, their knees touching.

Christine gulped her wine. She heard the Duc laugh.

She set the glass upon the table then stared at him, her deception becoming bolder.

"Do you find me amusing, Alexandre?"

"Very much, my sweet," he smiled at her.

"I want nothing more than to please you, Alexandre. Now, you mustn't keep me in suspense any longer. Tell me, how do you _know_ me?" She demurely asked. "I can't imagine society has had anything wonderful to say of me."

The Duc lightly exhaled.

"No, society hasn't had many pleasant things to say of you, Christine. Thank God my opinion doesn't waver upon theirs, though, hmm?"

He moved closer to her as he set his glass upon the table. He gently took her hand in his.

"You are quite exquisite, _ma chère._ And I do remember you as the Vicomtesse de Chagny," he whispered, leaning toward her ear. "But, I shall always remember you as the star ingénue of the Paris Opera House from all those years ago, my sweet. You were a very _convincing _actress, Christine."

He began to caress her arm while tenderly biting her ear.

"Very convincing, indeed," he muttered.

He then caressed her shoulder, her neck, her chest. He slightly pulled away from her, his eyes gazing into hers.

Christine breathed deeply.

"I must admit I was very pleased to hear of your and the Vicomte's annulment." He shook his head, his hands upon hers now. "Unable to provide an heir, is my understanding. Tell me, Christine," he breathed, "was it essentially because he couldn't perform his husbandly duties, my sweet, or were you truly unable to bear a child? He is nothing more than a mere boy, after all, so it wouldn't surprise me if that were the truth, his being unable to perform."

He sat closer to her, his voice becoming lower.

"For if it is because of that reason, _ma chère,_ then I'd want nothing more than to have you as my own, to show you pleasure beyond your wildest imagination."

His hand rose and cupped her breast. Christine was disgusted but held her ground, hoping to all that was good that society hadn't actually believed their annulment had been because Raoul couldn't perform. That was hardly the truth.

She gasped as the Duc began kneading her breast.

"But then you disappeared, Christine. My heart was broken to hear you had left the city. I wanted you so very badly, _ma chère._ I wanted you very much. I still want you." He kissed her throat, his hand still kneading her breast. "Now, you are here, at my complete mercy. I must have you, Christine. I must tame the passionate woman I know you to be." He kissed the other side of her throat.

"You know nothing of me," she murmured, her body frozen, as he continued his tender kisses. "How can you possibly know I am a passionate woman?"

"Oh, yes, I think I do know. I was there that night, Christine. I watched you on that stage in _Don Juan Triumphant._ You performed the role of Aminta quite compellingly. The way you touched yourself, the way you touched him, the infamous Phantom of the Opera. It was most erotic. I found myself quite…_aroused_, my sweet. That lascivious Phantom of yours, Christine, I have come to know him quite well while he's been locked away here in Paris this last week. He's an interesting specimen—"

"Specimen," she gasped. "He is a man, Your Grace, a flesh and blood man just as you are." She abruptly pulled away from him, standing before the window.

She was trembling. _Oh, God, Erik. I am so sorry, my love._

"Forgive me, Christine, for being so bold."

She shook her head.

"It doesn't matter."

"Oh, but it does, my sweet."

She heard him stand and walk toward her.

Christine shivered as he laid his hands upon her shoulders, pressing her against him. She could feel his erection upon her backside. She swallowed hard.

"I know why you're here, Christine. You wish for me to use my influence over the President. After all, it is the President himself who shall handle this particular criminal _personally_, considering the vicious crimes he has committed, which has given him great notoriety. All of Paris fears him." He squeezed her shoulders. "You wish for me to convince him to let your precious Phantom go."

"Erik," she harshly muttered. "His name is Erik."

"Yes, yes, I know. No matter, _ma chère._ I can have him released."

She turned to face him, her pretense, her playing the fool, becoming stronger.

"Truly, you can do that? Raoul and Philippe—"

"Desperately pleaded with me to release him? Yes, they did. But it wasn't them I wanted to hear the begging and pleading from for the man's life." He grasped her hand and laid it upon his throbbing flesh. "It was you," he whispered.

"What do you want from me?" She coyly asked, already knowing the bleak answer.

"Your body, my sweet, your legs wrapped around my waist, your lips screaming my name with reckless abandon as I take you. I want you completely, Mademoiselle Daaé, and I want to believe it. I want you to perform for me, Christine. I want to believe you want me as much as I want you, _ma chère._"

He raised his hands, cupping her breasts. She immediately pulled away from him, walking toward the other side of the room. She didn't want him to see her tears. She wrapped her arms about her body.

She couldn't do it. Throughout the entire sleepless night before, she'd vigorously fought with herself over the possibility of giving the Duc her body, believing she could actually do it if it meant Erik's life, even if he'd never forgive her. Philippe had spent the better part of the evening with her, dedicatedly informing her of how to play the Duc, of how to humor him, flatter him. She'd thought he'd prepared her completely for this.

Yet now as she stood in the Duc's bedchambers, his desire for her evident, she didn't think she could. She just couldn't. She could never betray Erik. She could never deceive him, even if it meant his life. She loved him too much. She knew he'd rather die knowing her honor and dignity still remained, rather than living, knowing she'd freed him with her body, knowing that she'd forever be disgraced.

No matter what Philippe promised her, Christine truly believed her and Erik's souls, their love, would never survive this. They would forever be destroyed. He'd never forgive her, and she'd never forgive herself.

"Complete freedom," she heard the Duc say, his voice interrupting her thoughts. "He will have complete freedom, a pardon by the President. If you decide to save his life, Christine, then he shall have it, but he'd have to leave France immediately. I will keep our little endeavour between us, of course. Though I'm sure all of Paris and your precious Phantom will figure it out for themselves." He chuckled. "So it would be for the best if he left, indeed, because of the demeaning _on-dit_ about you alone. Your lover can then live his life without the burden of his sins, without living in fear of the law finding him once more, and without the _on-dit_ of your betrayal."

Tears began streaming down Christine's face. _Complete freedom, a pardon? _It seemed too wonderful to be true. If she slept with the Duc, Erik would truly be a free man. Yes, he'd have to leave France, but it would mean a new life, a life without secrets and solitude, without hiding…a life without her, presumably. But it would be his life, he'd be alive. That's what mattered.

_Oh God, Erik, tell me what to do. I don't know what to do! I love you so much, I cannot let you die knowing I can save you, yet I know you'll hate me for this for always._

Christine wiped the tears from her face then slowly turned to face the Duke.

"How do I know you'll keep your word?"

"I give you my word as a gentleman. I shall visit the President immediately after the…_act._ He will be released by dawn tomorrow."

Christine stared intently at him, desperately trying not to flinch at his words.

The Duc walked toward her then held out his hand.

"So, _ma chère_, do we have a bargain?"


	29. His Challenged Fate

_**Chapter Twenty-Eight: His Challenged Fate **_

"Christine?" A sweet, feminine voice called her name from beside her. "Christine?"

Christine blinked back the tears that clouded her eyes as Meg laid her hand upon her arm.

"Christine, please, say something."

Christine shook her head, blinking profusely. She laid her forehead in her hand.

"I'm sorry, Meg. Forgive me."

Meg warily smiled.

"Are you all right?"

"Y-yes, I'm fine." Christine cleared her throat. "What were we discussing?" She asked dazedly.

Meg let out a soft sigh, her voice suddenly becoming serious.

"Christine, you have been here for three days since your return from Paris. You haven't left your room until this morning and you certainly haven't spoken to Mama and me, either. Now, please," she pleaded, taking Christine's hands in hers, "talk to me. Tell me what happened. Will they release Erik?" She asked bluntly.

Tears spilled forth upon Christine's face as she looked fixedly into Meg's concerned eyes. She hadn't any idea what to confide to her dear friend and believed that if she had any inkling of where to begin she doubted she would confide the truth to her anyhow. She didn't wish to burden the Girys with what had occurred while she stayed with Raoul in Paris. Yet they were all she had left, besides Raoul and Philippe. They deserved to know the truth. After all, Erik meant everything to Meg and Madame Giry, too, how could she possibly not tell them?

Christine shook her head. She was completely and miserably torn.

"I-I don't know, Meg." She finally spoke. "I truly don't know."

Meg bit her lip then pulled away from Christine, falling back in her chair, tears filling her own eyes. Christine looked down in her lap shamefully. She hated this.

They were seated within the gardens, drinking tea in the white gazebo that Erik had built for the Girys while he lived with them some years ago. Christine was trying desperately to enjoy the crisp, breezy morning, Meg, too. But as the morning slowly went by, it seemed impossible. Erik was no longer in her life and nothing else in this entire world would convince her otherwise of the miracle of his return. It was over. He was gone, never to return to her.

Christine wrapped her arms about her suddenly chilled body.

"I think I shall return to my room, Meg," she whispered as she rose from the delicate glass table that was trimmed with white finishing. "I am not feeling very well."

"You will do nothing of the kind, Christine Daaé." An authoritative voice came from behind her.

Meg awkwardly looked away and out into the gardens as Christine froze at the sudden sound of Madame Giry's strong voice.

She felt the mysteriously daunting yet loving ballet mistress walk up behind her, followed quickly by her soft hand upon her shoulder.

"Please, sit, my child."

Christine nodded automatically, knowing full well Madame Giry's gesture wasn't a request but a command. She sat once more, Madame Giry joining her and Meg.

She poured herself some tea, took a prim sip then laid her hand upon Christine's.

"How are you feeling this morning, Christine?"

"I'm fine." She lied.

Madame Giry set her teacup upon the table then placed her hands in her lap. She nodded her head.

"Christine, dear, I cannot express enough how very sorry I am for what has occurred. It—"

Madame Giry drew in a slow breath, choking upon her words. Christine couldn't decide if she'd done so in order to cover a small sob or if she was just having a difficult time finding the right words. She quickly looked over at the ballet mistress who'd been a second mother to her, concern in her hazel eyes.

"Madame Giry?"

Madame Giry laid her hand upon her mouth, causing Meg and Christine to immediately stand before her, wrapping their arms about her shoulders and body. She quietly wept.

"Oh, Mama," Meg consoled.

Christine rubbed Madame Giry's back in comfort. She raised her hand up to stop them.

"I'm all right, dears. I'm quite all right." She paused, drawing in a long breath. "He was my dearest friend."

Christine and Meg froze at her words though they both already knew the dark truth. Yet hearing them aloud was still quite overwhelming, still shocking. Christine felt incredibly selfish. She wasn't the only one mourning the enigmatic composer. It was just as before. The Girys were grieving, too, especially Madame Giry, who'd known Erik for twenty-five years.

Madame Giry turned to Christine as they sat once more before the table.

"You truly don't know if he shall be released, Christine?"

Christine slowly shook her head.

"No," she replied meekly. "I don't. Raoul promised me that he'd write as soon as it is determined—" She swallowed hard. "As soon as it is determined whether he shall live or…die." Her throat closed as she held back her seemingly endless tears at her last word.

"Do you think they will let him live, Mama?" Meg hopefully asked. "Perhaps they won't release him. But they may allow him to live."

Madame Giry shook her head, taking another sip of tea. Christine knew Madame Giry was doing all she possibly could to keep her prim and proper composure perceptible.

"I don't know. He has been a wanted man for years. I don't suppose it's possible. He shall either die or be released, all or nothing. All we can do now is wait." She spoke grimly.

Christine abruptly stood from the chair, suddenly furious.

"There is no use in waiting! It's over! He's gone, never to return!"

"Christine—" Madame Giry began.

"No! I won't hear it! I can't take it anymore! Now, please, I don't wish to speak of it any longer."

She began sobbing as Madame Giry stood beside her, gently grasping her wrist. Simultaneously, Meg walked around the table, wrapping her arms about Christine's waist.

"Hush, darling. Everything will be all right. We're here, my sweet child." Madame Giry soothed.

"It's never going to be all right." Christine sobbed. "Nothing you can say or do will console me or will bring him back to me. It's over. Erik is gone."

She pushed away from Meg and Madame Giry and began leaving the gazebo when she abruptly stopped in her tracks, an agonizing question upon her lips. A question she'd longed to ask them both since Bernard had first brought her here after that life shattering morning.

Christine swiftly turned on her heel, facing them both once more.

"Did you know of Erik's marriage?" She softly asked. "O-of Geneviève?"

She noticed Meg freeze at her question, her face gone pale. But Madame Giry remained calm, her face expressionless, her dark eyes somber.

"Yes," Madame Giry simply answered after some time.

Christine was fuming but found herself too exhausted to argue. She desperately wanted to yell and scream at this confession, but couldn't find the will to do so. She didn't have the heart, didn't have the soul. But she had to know why. If she had known it would have possibly changed everything.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She dejectedly asked. "Please, tell me why."

"Oh, Christine," Meg spoke but was stopped by Madame Giry.

"It wasn't our place to tell, child. The decision was Erik's. We wouldn't take that away from him." She shook her head, visibly realizing that any explanation wouldn't be enough. "It simply wasn't our place."

"We didn't wish for you to become upset, Christine." Meg continued. "We were afraid you wouldn't return to him if you'd known. We wanted to protect you—"

Christine clenched her fists, her sudden desire to fight back and defend herself overcoming her lost senses.

"Why is everyone trying to protect me? You two, Raoul and Philippe, Erik! Why? I am not a child! I can take care of myself." She cried. "Why doesn't anyone believe that?"

She wrapped her arms about her body. She felt lost and helpless. Her life, Erik, everything was gone. All she had left were the Girys and the de Chagnys, and yet, here she was, knowingly destroying them with her words. All they'd wanted was to help her, to love her, yet she wouldn't have it. She would embrace the darkness as Erik had, live her life alone.

She didn't want another in her life, didn't want anyone.

Christine miserably sobbed, falling to the ground, vigorously shaking her head. She slammed her fists upon the rough ground of the gazebo, incredibly angry with herself.

_That is not what you want you little fool! You know you need them in your life! You cannot live a life of solitude. Erik wouldn't allow it! Why are you pushing them away?_

"Christine," a clam voice broke through her demented thoughts, sitting down beside her and laying her hand upon her shoulder.

Christine wiped her nose with her hand, then her cheeks, giving in to Madame Giry's comforting touch.

"You're angry, Christine." Madame Giry spoke. "You're upset, you're lost. You're very frightened. I know, darling, I know," she breathed as Christine began to cry once more at her direct words.

Madame Giry embraced her.

"But you aren't alone, Christine. You aren't! Meg and I aren't going anywhere and neither are the Comte and Vicomte. We're grieving, too." She slightly pulled away and looked intently into Christine's eyes. "If Erik is truly gone, Christine—" She blinked back tears and sighed deeply, a sudden thought occurring. "Were you able to visit him? Were you able to say…goodbye?"

Christine winced. While in Paris she hadn't thought once of actually visiting Erik in prison, she hadn't believed it to be possible.

_You stupid woman!_

Tears began spilling forth as she thought of her recklessness. She'd been too consumed with how to save him, forgetting completely the possibility of seeing him, of making things right between them before his imminent demise, whether it be the end of his life or their love. She had spoken such horrible words to him that morning, words she desperately wanted to take back, and now she'd never be able to apologize, to seek his forgiveness. She would never say goodbye.

He was gone.

Christine cringed, forcefully closing her eyes. She felt she might be sick. She grabbed her stomach.

"Christine?" She heard Meg's concerned voice before her.

"Meg, go and find—"

"No, no," Christine stopped Madame Giry. "I'm all right. It isn't necessary. Please, don't go, Meg." She reached her hand out to her sweet friend.

Meg hastily sat down beside her and Madame Giry, taking Christine's hands in hers.

"Christine, what is it?"

Christine bit her lip as Madame Giry wiped her tears away. Yet it seemed futile considering they kept pouring forth. She couldn't help herself. Her soul, her heart, was gone, sadness would forever envelop her. She truly believed it.

"Christine?" Meg inquired once more after some time.

She drew in a long breath. She'd informed Philippe of her cruel words to Erik that ill-fated morning, and he'd understood completely. He promised her that Erik had forgiven her, that he understood. But the opinion of the Girys mattered, too. She needed to hear their reassurance of Erik's love and forgiveness. But she also needed to hear them tell her that she was a stupid, foolish girl. She wanted to be hurt for what she'd said to him, for what she'd…done to him.

"The last thing I said to him was that he didn't love me as much as I love him! I told him that I'd never forgive him for leaving me! It was awful! My words, my childishness, how could I say such things to him? Those will forever be my last words to him! We argued!" She yelled. "Our last conversation together was an argument! I will never forgive myself!"

Suddenly hysterical, Christine threw herself into Madame Giry's arms, Meg wrapping her own about Christine.

"Hush, child," Madame Giry soothed. "It is over now, just as you said." She grabbed Christine's face between her frail hands. "And you know he has forgiven you! He loved you with his entire being, Christine. He never loved another! You, Christine, it has always been you! He knows you hadn't meant those words. You were scared!"

Christine noticed Meg look down at the ground at Madame Giry's passionately blunt words. Meg had loved Erik once, perhaps still loved him. It must have hurt to hear her mother fervently tell Christine that Erik had only loved her and never another.

"And he knew you loved him with your soul, Christine." Madame Giry furiously continued. "Don't you ever think otherwise, Christine, that he didn't know you loved him! I will not hear it! You were scared! You only spoke out of your concern for him! Those words certainly wouldn't make him believe you thought he didn't love you, that you didn't love him because of them! You mustn't think such things!"

Madame Giry abruptly stood then, smoothing her skirts, her outburst hurting her. She laid her hand upon her forehead. Christine noticed she was trembling.

Meg stood, too, laying her hand on Madame Giry's shoulder.

"Mama, please," Meg pleaded.

Madame Giry exhaled.

"I'm sorry, Christine. God, I am sorry." She walked to the table and sat down, visibly settling down and collecting her thoughts. Christine had never known Madame Giry to be so angry, so impassioned. Not for some time, not since she'd pleaded with Raoul and the managers of the Paris Opera House to beware of Erik's machinations. It frightened her to rediscover this terrified and angry woman.

"Are you expecting to hear from the Vicomte soon?" Madame Giry finally asked, breaking the solemn silence that seemed to last an eternity between the three anguished women.

Christine slowly stood, hesitantly walking toward Madame Giry.

"I don't know."

Madame Giry nodded.

"I suppose you wouldn't." She sighed. "I'm sorry I yelled—"

Christine shook her head, diffidently laying a hand upon Madame Giry's shoulder.

"I needed to hear it. I've been a fool."

"No, Christine," Meg spoke. "You aren't a fool. You're frightened."

"I don't know what to do without him, Meg. I don't think I can live without him."

Meg shook her head, laying her hand upon Christine's shoulder.

"You can, Christine. You must. Erik would want you—"

Christine furiously shook her head, pulling away from Meg.

"Please, don't, Meg. I couldn't bear it."

Madame Giry stood then, taking Christine's face between her hands.

"Time, Christine. I know you don't wish to hear it now, but time will heal you. I promise you."

Christine swallowed hard, looking down upon the ground. Madame Giry embraced her, laying her head upon Christine's. She felt Meg tentatively lay her hand upon her back.

"Perhaps you should return to your room, now, Christine. Enough has been said for one day. You mustn't relive everything now."

Christine nodded her head in compliance. Madame Giry grasped her chin, obliging Christine to look into the dark eyes of the compelling ballet mistress.

"You may not wish to confide everything you're feeling to us, now, Christine. But with time you may. Don't burden yourself with this horror, this despair. Don't bury it deep within yourself. You must let it in and seek forgiveness. I know you are weeping for Erik, that you will always grieve for him, but don't bring this solely upon yourself. Let us in, Christine. Please, my dear, let us in. We only wish to help you."

Madame Giry kissed her forehead as Meg laid her head upon Christine's back.

"We love you, Christine." Meg softly declared.

Christine nodded, wiping her wet cheeks.

"I know. I love you both."

Madame Giry softly smiled then gently touched her cheek. Christine warily smiled in return then tenderly pulled away from the Girys' embraces and slowly returned to their small cottage.

Once she reached the door she turned to them and slowly nodded with acknowledgement toward them. Madame Giry had wrapped her arm about Meg's shoulder, Meg's head laying upon her mother's, their tearstained cheeks visible from the cottage.

Christine absentmindedly wiped her own face at the sight of them then turned to the door once more and went inside, silently shutting the door behind her.

*******

Meg fell into her mother's arms as soon as Christine disappeared within the cottage, tears streaming down her face.

"Oh, Mama, I cannot do this. What if he is dead?"

Berenice wrapped her arms tightly about her trembling daughter.

"I accepted his fate long ago, Meg. You must, now, too."

Meg pulled away from her mother and looked fixedly into her eyes.

"How can you say that, Mama? You don't mean it!"

Berenice grasped her daughter's hands.

"Meg, his fate was decided the moment he abducted Christine through her mirror all those years ago. He lived for her and now he will die for her."

Meg shook her head furiously.

"No! I won't believe it! Stop this!" She pulled her hands free and laid them upon her ears. "I won't listen to this." She began running toward the cottage.

"Meg!" Berenice exclaimed. "Please, Meg!"

But it was too late. Meg had hastily entered the cottage, slamming the door behind her. Madame Giry let out a long sigh and vulnerably fell into the chair upon the gazebo.

"Damn you, Erik," she breathed, not really meaning it. She slammed her fist upon the table. "Damn your mother to Hell!" She yelled now, with brazen conviction.

The man hadn't known what love was, hadn't felt it, had never been embraced by it, all because of his vain and coward of a mother.

_Damn that wicked woman!_

Berenice poured herself more tea then sipped it, closing her eyes as its warmth enveloped her, its liquid a small comfort.

She never met Erik's mother. He certainly hadn't a clue as to her whereabouts, hadn't a clue as to whether she was even alive.

Berenice shook her head. Of course she wasn't alive, the woman was a whore. If she hadn't died because of her nonsensicality of life then the French disease surely had taken her worthless life.

Why couldn't the woman have loved her son unconditionally? No matter that he wasn't physically perfect in the eyes of society. Erik is a good man.

_Was a good man,_ her distraught mind whispered within her.

Berenice shook her head, abruptly standing from the table. She began pacing the gazebo.

_No! He isn't dead! _

Tears burst forth upon her flushed face.

_But he will be._

Berenice sighed, turning her thoughts to his mother once more. In a morose and twisted way, she was grateful to the woman. If it hadn't been for her casting Erik away, for her abandonment, her treatment of the boy, then _she'd_ never had known the man.

She'd never have found him trapped and beaten and cruelly exposed at that carnival all those years ago. He'd never had escaped to Persia those years before she'd saved him and found temporary peace while designing and building for the Shah. He'd been accepted there, had a seemingly nice life there.

Berenice suddenly frowned, crinkling her brow.

She'd never known why Erik had left Persia after only living there for a few years. She never dared to ask him. All information he'd ever given her of his tormented life had been volunteered. He'd always confided to her willingly. She never pushed him for the morbid details of his life. Yet through all of his truth, he'd never revealed why he'd left Persia. And when he had spoken of his former home, he only spoke of its beauties. She hadn't wished to ask him of its cruelties, his reasoning for leaving, believing he'd had a dark and terrifying reason for leaving in the end, only to return to a country that had been the bane of his existence from the moment he'd taken his first breath.

"Madame Giry?"

Berenice shook her head as her thoughts were interrupted by Olivie's soft voice.

"Yes, Olivie, what is it?" She kindly inquired.

"The Vicomte de Chagny is here, Madame."

Berenice's eyes widened as she swiftly turned toward Olivie. She swallowed hard as her body suddenly began to tremble.

"Where is Christine?" She hastily asked.

"I believe her to still be in her bedroom, Madame. That was the last I saw of her."

Berenice nodded her head.

"Thank you, Olivie."

Olivie briefly curtsied, causing Berenice to softly smile. The young maid never needed to indulge in such formalities yet never obliged to her and Meg's desire of her not doing so. She was ever the sweet girl.

"Olivie," Berenice called after her as she turned to go.

"Yes, Madame," she asked.

"Where is my daughter?"

"I last saw her entering her bedroom as well, Madame."

"Please, Olivie, make sure they both stay there until I say otherwise. I wish to speak with the Vicomte alone first."

Olivie furrowed her brow, clearly confused and reluctant.

"Of course, Madame," she complied after a moment then turned on her heel to go.

Berenice exhaled, resting her hands upon the glass table.

The Vicomte personally coming to inform Christine of Erik's fate couldn't possibly be good. Erik was either already dead or certainly well on his way to become one with God in Heaven.

A thought suddenly occurred to Madame Giry. Would Christine return to the Vicomte upon learning of Erik's fate? She gulped as she realized of the harsh possibility and Erik's reaction to it.

_He would want it._

No other man beside the Vicomte loved Christine as deeply as Erik. No other man could protect Christine as best as the Vicomte could. And he would. His name, his nobility, his family, could certainly protect Christine from the law, from embracing a dark despair for the rest of her life. Christine wouldn't be alone, either. She may never love the Vicomte as she loved Erik—

Madame Giry scoffed. Of course Christine wouldn't love the Vicomte as she would always love Erik. She silently berated herself for even thinking of the possibility of Christine falling in love with the Vicomte even deeper than she had with Erik. For her soul would surely wilt away and die with Erik once she discovered his dark fate.

The only concern now was whether or not Christine would comply with remarrying the Vicomte. Perhaps not now but in time she would see the light, would realize that marriage to the Vicomte was the logical choice to make.

Berenice shook her head at her own thoughts. Christine had made the so-called logical choice five years ago and found herself trapped within a hopeless marriage because of it.

But Berenice hadn't believed for a moment that Christine didn't truly love the Vicomte, for she'd seen the two of them together over the years of their marriage. Christine had loved the Vicomte very much. And despite him being the logical choice, the _right_ choice, in the eyes of society, that hadn't been the true reason whatsoever for her potential surrender of her life to Erik in order to save the Vicomte's. She had done it because she loved him and she wouldn't have had it any other way. She'd wanted him to live even if it meant her life would forever be embraced by Erik's darkness.

But now to choose the Vicomte because it was the logical choice, well…Berenice knew Christine wouldn't have it. She'd never choose because it was the right thing to do but because her heart and soul believed it to be.

No, Christine would never love another man, never lie with another, never give all of her to another.

Christine was forever Erik's and there was no doubt that she'd die with Erik once she learned of his sealed fate. A fate that had truly been sealed the moment Erik had abducted Christine though her mirror, as she'd confided to Meg moments ago, and gave Christine his music and soul all those years ago.

Berenice sighed as she left the gazebo and her bleak thoughts with it, and slowly walked toward the cottage, the Vicomte along with Erik and Christine's fate waiting inside.

It was time.


	30. La Lune

_**Chapter Twenty-Nine: La Lune**_

_July 1886_

Christine jolted awake, her body covered in a cold sweat, her face flushed by tears. She laid her face in her hands, frantically rubbing her tears away, then flung the covers away from her suddenly heated body and walked over to a window beside her bed. She gazed out into the night, the full moon shining upon her.

She began softly sobbing as she thought of the feverish nightmare that had haunted her for the last month, a nightmare that would forever haunt her soul, a nightmare that had been very real and would forever change her life.

*******

"_So, _ma chère_, do we have a bargain?"_

_Christine stared intently at the Duc's outstretched hand._

"_Monsieur le Duc!"_

_The Duc groaned. Christine jerked her head toward the door as she, too, heard the panicked butler's voice yell for the Duc from the other side of it._

_The Duc suddenly grabbed her, pushing her against the wall. He raised his finger to his lips, signaling her to stay quiet, puzzling Christine, considering the butler already knew of her presence in the Duc's chambers. _

_The Duc opened the door. _

"_What is it?" His irritated voice bellowed._

"_It is…quite…urgent, Your Grace," the butler spoke through gasping breaths. "It is…your cousin. He needs you—"_

_Christine saw the Duc raise his hand through the crack of the opened door, stopping the butler. _

"_Say no more. Prepare the horses and carriage. I'll be down in a moment."_

"_Yes, Your Grace," the butler bowed then abruptly left._

_The Duc roughly shut the door, running his hand through his hair._

"_Damn," he whispered, as he began pacing the room._

_Christine cautiously walked away from the wall, her heart slamming in her chest.  
_

"_Perhaps I should go, Your Grace." She breathed deeply. "My regards to your cousin, I hope all is well."_

_She began to leave the room, thanking all that was good that a decision had been made for her. She internally thanked the Duc's cousin as well, whoever he may be._

_Now she'd have to find another way to free Erik, despite her vast doubt. And when—if—she couldn't—_

_She tensed as the Duc laid his hand on her shoulder, stopping her. He then grasped her hand and walked her toward his bed, never saying a word, his fevered eyes upon her._

_Christine trembled, hers eyes widened. _

My God! This cannot be happening! He's still going to take me!

_Tears filled her eyes as the Duc laid her down upon the bed. He swiftly lifted her skirts, untied his breeches, and then entered her. Christine gritted her teeth, desperately holding back a groan of pain. She wasn't prepared whatsoever for his foreign invasion. _

_She lay completely still, the Duc groaning above her, finishing within a few moments. He removed his inflamed flesh before releasing his seed inside her, making a mess upon the bed._

_Christine shook beneath him as he fell upon her, his hand retying his breeches between their bodies. He lifted himself above her then laid her skirts back into place. He took her shaking hands, subtly forcing her to sit. He then lightly caressed her hair, her face and arms. _

_After a of couple moments of his unbearable ministrations upon her body, he stood from the bed and walked into his dressing room._

_Christine wrapped her arms about her quivering body, biting her lip, hoping that she wouldn't cry. She didn't wish to cry in front of him. He'd already taken enough from her. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of her tears. _

_The Duc returned after some time, his flushed appearance from moments before gone, his disheveled clothes now replaced with fresh ones. He looked like a nobleman once more._

_He walked over to the bed and kneeled before her, taking her hands in his. _

"_He shall be released by dawn, _ma chère_. Once I have settled this matter with my reckless cousin I shall seek an audience with the President immediately."_

_He caressed her arm then kissed her throat. Christine swallowed hard, her gaze fixed over his shoulder. She refused to look into his eyes, refused to acknowledge anything. She wanted nothing from him now that Erik would be freed. _

"_And thank you," he whispered in her ear, causing her to shudder with disgust. "If we'd had more time…well, I'm sure you already know," he continued, cupping her breast._

_Christine remained silent, her body frozen. She was completely dead to the world, an automaton._

_He kissed her breast through her dress then took her hands once more, lifting her from the bed. He walked her to the door._

"_I shall see you out, _ma chère._" _

_He opened the door but paused before leaving, turning to her._

"_And if your precious Phantom decides he doesn't want you after he discovers what has…occurred between us, my sweet—which he will..." He laid his hand on her womanhood. "I certainly will." _

_He leaned into her ear, his hand still upon her. _

"_I will take care of you, Christine. Let me take care of you."_

_Christine said nothing. Yet she was screaming within herself._

Just leave me alone!

"_Well, then," the Duc sighed after some time, removing his hand from her desecrated mound. She'd been nothing but a hole to him, no matter what he voiced otherwise. _

_He lifted her hand, briefly kissing it, then opened the door wider, gesturing her out with his arm._

_She heard him close the door then felt him lay his hand upon her elbow as he escorted her down the hall._

_Christine felt numb as her mind embraced a dark oblivion. Her dignity, her _soul_, left behind in that wicked man's bedchambers._

*******

Christine trembled as she relived her betrayal of the one man who would forever consume her body and possess her soul.

_Erik._

She began pacing her room, twisting Erik's ring about her finger.

It'd been a little over a month since she'd given her body to the Duc de Pomeroy for Erik's life, the Duc indeed keeping his word in the end. Erik had been released and pardoned the very next morning, though she hadn't known until a few days later. She'd left Paris immediately after what had occurred, with Bernard as her escort. It hadn't been until some days later when Raoul had personally come to see her at the Girys' home that she'd discovered the news through him. She then finally found the courage to tell the Girys of how Erik's release and pardon had come about, with Raoul by her side, their looks of shock and pity shaming her.

Yet they'd understood and embraced her as she sobbed and confessed everything. They'd been nothing but wonderful to her. And for the past month she anxiously waited for Erik with bated breath, hoping desperately every day that he'd return to her, that he'd forgive her. That he still…loved her.

But he hadn't come.

Raoul had informed her that upon Erik's release he'd disappeared without a word, without a trace. It'd been the Duc himself who'd visited Erik in prison to inform him of his release and pardon, of his needing to leave France immediately. Yet Christine hadn't any idea as to whether the Duc had kept his word of not confiding to Erik of her betrayal, and despairingly wondered when the day would be that Erik would discover the dark truth.

Christine sighed deeply.

Erik must have known of her sleeping with the Duc though, even if the decision hadn't ultimately been hers. For he hadn't returned to her, hadn't written to her, hadn't communicated with her whatsoever. She hadn't heard anything of his whereabouts since Raoul's visit. Raoul promised her that he'd seek Erik out. That he'd find and speak with him, whether or not he'd be willing to listen. But he hadn't found him.

Raoul wrote to her every so often and visited her weekly. But every letter, every visit, had been the same. He'd heard nothing of Erik, and the loyal men he and his brother had hired to inquire about him hadn't discovered anything, either. There was absolutely no trace of him.

He was gone.

Christine groaned and slowly fell to the floor as she recalled the past month. Her soul was broken, her life gone, and it—he—wasn't coming back.

She choked back her forthcoming sobs, hoping to all that was good that neither Meg nor Madame Giry could hear her. Many a night had one of them heard her sobs and come to her, comforting her with their warm embraces. Yet tonight she wanted to embrace the darkness and the truth of her forever living life alone. For that's how she truly felt. No matter how often Raoul visited her, or that she would forever live with Madame Giry and Meg. It didn't matter. Without Erik she was nothing, and damn anyone else for thinking otherwise. She was alone.

Christine slammed her fist against the floor.

She wasn't a heroine, she wasn't brave! She was nothing but a coward. And nothing in her life mattered any longer, not without Erik. She'd known Erik wouldn't return to her once he discovered her betrayal, no matter what Philippe had told her, no matter what anyone had said to convince her otherwise.

Yet there'd been that small inkling of hope in the very depth of her soul that he would return, only to be destroyed as each morning, day and night swept by, and he still hadn't come. Erik wasn't coming back because of her and there was nothing she could do to change that.

Christine abruptly rose and opened the window, welcoming the light breeze upon her flushed skin. She rested her hands on the windowsill, closed her eyes and leaned her head back. She let out a soft sigh.

She'd done one thing right through it all.

She had saved Erik's life, and only time would tell if that would be enough for her. That perhaps one day her ultimate despair would diminish and the knowledge that Erik lived would be enough for her.

She nodded her head with slight conviction and turned and sat upon her bed once more.

_It will be._

She lay down and curled herself into a ball, her thighs lightly touching her chest, her clenched fists settled beneath her chin. She kissed Erik's ring.

Christine then silently cried herself to sleep once more, a dooming ritual that hadn't left her since she'd returned to the Girys one month ago.

She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, letting the darkness and cool breeze embrace her. She shivered a bit as the wind touched her cheek and body, a thin chemise her only means of warmth. Yet she hadn't the strength to reach for her blanket and cover herself.

She then opened her eyes as she recalled the full moon and the bright stars. They were a celestial comfort. She breathed deeply as she gazed into the glowing moon and prayed. She prayed for the unborn children she'd lost with Raoul, prayed for the Girys and Philippe, Bernard and Capucine. She prayed for Erik and the hope of his return and the hope of his life. She prayed for her mother and father, for any soul that had touched her life.

Christine then prayed for herself in the hope that perhaps one day her life, her _soul,_ would return to her.

*******

Berenice abruptly stood from her chair within the sitting room as she saw the dark and powerful figure, silhouetted by the full moon, walking toward her home.

She'd been unable to sleep and as a result had found herself making tea and gazing aimlessly out into the bright night through the window of her sitting room, a habit she'd come about often the past month. She'd been counting the days since the Vicomte had come to the cottage and informed her and Christine and Meg of Erik's fate. His fate being that he would live, that he would be released and pardoned. Yet the encouraging news had been nothing compared to Christine's horrid confession of sleeping with the Duc de Pomeroy for that freedom. It'd nearly shattered both Berenice and Meg as they listened intently to Christine's shocking admission, and neither had known what to do for her, except be there for her and never let her go. And they certainly hadn't.

For the past month Berenice had prayed for Erik's return. She truly believed that he would return to Christine, even if he knew the dark truth of how his freedom had come about. And now it would seem her prayers had been answered.

She softly gasped as Erik's figure emerged closer to her home. He'd returned.

_Thank God!_

Berenice hastily walked out of the sitting room and down the hallway. She quickly unlocked the front door then roughly opened it and froze as she saw Erik's tormented soul standing before her.

He must have walked from Paris. His clothes were disheveled, his breathing heavy, and she could smell his masculinity entwined with sweat and nature and…fear. His body seemed weak, his mind beleaguered. It broke Berenice's heart.

Tears filled her eyes as she gazed at the man clothed in darkness, his white leather mask illuminated by the moon as he removed his hood, which had been hiding his face. They both stood there staring intently at another until she couldn't bear it any longer.

She swiftly walked to him and fervently embraced him as he reached his arms out to her in return.

"Erik," she breathed.

He held her closer.

"Berenice," he whispered.

She pulled away from him and grabbed his masked face between her trembling hands.

"Oh, Erik," she sighed, wiping his sudden tears from his unmasked cheek.

"Is she all right?" He anxiously asked. "Christine? Is she all right?"

Berenice shook her head.

"No, Erik, she isn't." She frankly admitted.

Erik pulled away from her and rubbed his face in his hands.

"What have I done, Berenice? What have I done to my beautiful angel?"

"No, Erik, please, don't you dare do this to yourself. No one could have possibly predicted this."

He didn't respond but hadn't continued either. He inattentively dug his foot into the ground, his body shifting with anxiety.

Erik swallowed hard.

"Where is she?" He quietly asked after their long moment of excruciating silence.

"She's safe, Erik."

Erik let out a long sigh of relief as Berenice noticed what he'd truly wanted to know.

That she was safe.

Berenice cleared her throat.

"She's sleeping. At least I hope she is. She's staying in the bedroom you'd lived in those years ago. After all, it is the only spare bedroom we have," she mumbled as an after thought.

Erik warily smiled at her words then reached his hand out and cupped her face. He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

"Come inside, Berenice."

Berenice nodded as Erik wrapped his arm about her shoulders and led them inside. She then let herself go completely, weeping within his strong embrace as they stood alone in the dark hall, the full moon no longer a radiant comfort.

*******

Erik had finished dressing himself into plain, casual clothes after the warm bath he'd succumbed to upon Berenice's authoritative insistence. Now, fully clothed and cleaned, along with a full stomach—Berenice having adamantly insisted that he eat as well—he found himself terrified of his true desire of the evening, his seeing, and possibly confronting, Christine.

Tears misted his eyes as he stood before Christine's door, dejectedly leaning against it. He trembled as he drew in a long breath and laid his hand upon the doorknob.

_The final threshold…_

Erik swallowed hard as he pulled away from the door, thrust his hands in his pockets, and began pacing the hall. He soon found himself downstairs, numbly pacing the sitting room.

_Perhaps I'm not ready for this._

For the past month or so since his release, he'd miserably fought with himself over how to approach Christine when he'd return to her. Now he found himself the coward as opposed to the alleged hero she'd claimed him to be, unable to cross that final threshold into the dark oblivion neither of them may be capable of overcoming.

Erik groaned as he recalled the moment the Duc de Pomeroy had visited him in that despicable prison and informed him of his release and pardon, along with his specific instructions that he must leave France immediately. He hadn't believed it at first, thought they'd surely kill him once he left the prison while his back was turned on the gendarmes. But they hadn't. He was truly free.

He had sought out Bernard's furtive home in Paris upon his release with the hope that Christine would still be with him, only to discover that she was with the Girys. It was then that he learned of the wretched truth behind his freedom.

Bernard had been the one to tell him of how his freedom had truly come about and murder had flowed through his veins when he'd discovered it: the Comte and Vicomte de Chagnys' attempt to persuade the Duc for his freedom with words, their failure, and Christine's sacrifice of her body to the Duc because of it. It had killed Erik.

"_There wasn't another way, Erik."_

Bernard's words still rang out within his anguished mind.

"_She loves you, Erik. She needs you. You must find it in your soul to return to her, to forgive her. She's everything to you and you cannot let this matter destroy the most wonderful thing that has happened to you. You know why she did it."_

And he was right. But Erik's mind had been too numb to comprehend anything Bernard had spoken of in means of comfort.

Erik rubbed his face with his hand.

His faithful companion had also confided to him that Christine's surrender was what the Duc had ultimately desired from the very beginning, that there'd been no other hope besides her sleeping with the Duc. The Duc's indulging of the Vicomte and his brother in the first place had just been a game, an act. It'd been Christine that he'd wanted all along, and he'd promised her everything pertaining to Erik's release in return for her body.

Erik fumed as his thoughts of Christine writhing beneath the Duc plagued his mind once more, his flesh plunging inside her again and again. It was all he could think of since he'd discovered her sacrifice for his life, and it sickened and disturbed him that all he wanted to know this last month was how it had truly happened once they were alone, once their bargain had been made. He wanted to know everything!

_Was it an actual seduction by the Duc or did Christine simply comply? Was she the one who'd seduced him? Did she succumb to him completely in the end, finding herself utterly enthralled by the suave and handsome man? Did she wrap her legs around his strong body, forcing him deeper inside her, her angelic voice, which _he'd_ created, screaming that man's name with erotic pleasure while he took her? Did she beg for him, _plead_ for him? Did she spread her fucking legs for him more than once?_

"Fuck!" Erik suddenly roared as he slammed his fist against the wall.

_My God! What if he's gotten her with child?_

Tears began streaming down Erik's face as these maddening questions plagued his mind again and again. Questions that he wanted answered yet didn't know if he had the courage to ask, questions that had endlessly flooded his mind for the past month, questions that he damn well knew the answers to yet found his dark insecurities overcoming him once more. It destroyed him.

He believed—no—he _knew_ that Christine hated every moment of her _time_ spent with the Duc. Yet Erik still wondered if she'd wanted him and he hated it. He trusted her completely yet couldn't help himself.

_Did she want him?_

"No," he growled through clenched teeth.

Erik shook his head as he found himself ascending the stairs and walking to Christine's bedroom once more, his clouded mind slowly succumbing to the truth.

_She didn't want him. She did it to save your miserable life. And now you must save hers. She'll never forgive herself for this. You must save her, man! She needs you, and you damn well know you need her!_

Erik froze as he suddenly focused upon what had really distraught him this last month. It hadn't been Christine's surrender to the Duc de Pomeroy.

What had truly haunted Erik this past month was Bernard's admittance to him of Christine's despairing confession when she'd returned to him. A confession she'd confided to Bernard with tears streaming down her face, her body trembling with despair and fear. She believed that he would hate her for what she'd done and that he'd never forgive her. She believed he could no longer love her and that because of her surrender to the Duc, he'd never return to her.

Her confession had broken Bernard's heart and it'd shattered Erik's soul. How could she possibly believe that he couldn't love her any longer because of what she'd done for him? He was bound to love her for always. He'd never had a choice. He didn't want a choice, for God's sake! He was destined to love her and nothing would stop him from doing so. He needed her in his life and it hurt him to hear that she doubted his love for her.

He had just needed time.

And after that agonizing month of heartache and sorrow, of despair and fear, of potential love lost and never rediscovered, Erik had finally found the courage to return to Christine.

There'd been foolish doubt that he couldn't, that he wouldn't. But in his heart of hearts, deep in his soul, he knew he would return to her.

_I just needed time. God, I hope I'm not too late._

_No, _he told himself, _Berenice would have said otherwise._

Erik began ruthlessly pacing the hall once more. He was trembling.

He had left Bernard's home one night on foot when he'd realized he couldn't be without Christine any longer. He'd refused Bernard's offer of providing him with a horse, in the hope of returning to the Girys', to _Christine,_ undiscovered. And a horse certainly would have made his clandestine journey to the Girys' much more difficult. Yet he'd also wanted to walk to the Girys' home not just because of the possibility of being caught—after all, he was believed to be in another country by now—but because he wanted to embrace the darkness one last time, to clear and open up his mind, as Christine constantly consumed his soul.

He longed for her, craved for her. He wanted himself deep inside her body and soul once more, but knew that it'd take some time to do so once again. He only hoped the woman he'd always loved was still alive, that the Duc de Pomeroy hadn't destroyed the beautiful soul he knew Christine to be.

Erik let out a long breath then turned to the door once more and gently opened it, not wishing to disturb Christine's slumber.

He kept his eyes closely upon the doorknob as he entered the bedroom and carefully closed the door. He then turned toward the bed where a sleeping Christine lay.

Tears filled his amber eyes at the sight of her.

_Oh, Christine._

She was curled up within herself, a blanket seemingly kicked off her shivering body by her feet. The window was open, a cool breeze filling the room, the full moon illuminating her lithe body.

Erik tentatively walked to the window and silently closed it, but found that he was unable to close the curtains. The moon's radiance upon Christine soothed him.

She was so beautiful, so pure, as she slept. Her brown curls surrounded her face, her tearstained cheeks flushed, her closed eyes visibly puffy from constant tears, her white chemise a reflection of her innocent beauty. A rare beauty he would love and cherish for always.

_You're everything, Christine._

Erik drew in a soft breath as he grasped the abandoned blanket between his hands and laid it upon her shivering form.

She was in a deep sleep, Erik knew, and hadn't wished to wake her. Yet as he stood before her sleeping form he found himself desperately wanting to touch her, to hold her, to rip the blanket away from her helpless self, lift her chemise and take her, to wake her with his aching flesh, to force her to remember that she belonged to him and no one else. He wanted nothing more in this moment than to take her and his despair and fury away through their impassioned flesh, their bodies combined, their souls becoming one once more.

Erik abruptly turned away from his sleeping angel, his dark and dangerous thoughts too powerful to ignore, his throbbing flesh overcoming his senses and control. He rubbed his hand furiously upon his face then froze as he felt his white leather mask. He always wore his mask, never dared to remove it, _except _when he was alone with Christine in the privacy and sanctuary of their eternal love.

He swallowed hard as he hesitantly took his mask off and laid it upon the nightstand, slowly falling into his element of comfort with Christine once more. No matter that she hadn't any idea he was here.

Erik walked over to the opposite side of the bed then gently lay down upon it, hoping to all that was good that he didn't wake her. He watched her fixedly throughout the rest of the night, a vast amount of space between their bodies, her back to him, her steady breathing a peaceful comfort.

He wouldn't touch her, he refused to touch her. Despite his desperate wanting of her, he hadn't the courage to touch her.

_My God! How will I ever be able to make love to her again? How can I ever love her body without the thought of that fucking man above her, thrusting his manhood within her?_

Erik squeezed his eyes shut as he found himself curling his body about himself, his thoughts frightening him. He then silently wept as he succumbed to his hopelessness and reached his hand out to touch her back. He stopped. Instead, he softly grasped one of her loose curls and began tenderly twisting it between his fingers as his tears wet his deformed face.

After some time he finally found himself dozing into a dreamless sleep, the lustrous moon enveloping him and his beloved throughout the figuratively dark night, her lush curl still wrapped between his deft fingers.

**Author's Note: Lots and lots and lots of Erik and Christine from now on! Promise :] Please keep reading and reviewing! Thanks so very much!! You all are lovely!**


	31. His Eternal Rose

_**Chapter Thirty: His Eternal Rose**_

"_Christine…"_

Christine hastily sat up from the bed, laying a hand upon her chest, her heart pounding, her body trembling.

She vigorously shook her head, rubbing her hands upon her face as her senses reeled.

"A dream," she murmured to herself. "He isn't here. It was just a dream."

Christine sat upon the bed for a moment, slowly returning to reality, the former bliss between waking and sleeping now an everlasting nightmare this last month. If it wasn't nightmares pertaining to the Duc de Pomeroy that plagued her in the threatening night since she'd returned to the Girys, then it was dreams of Erik returning to her, their souls forever reunited, their love rediscovered.

Christine groaned. Both circumstances were nightmares. One encounter had occurred while another never would. Erik wasn't coming back. She needed to accept it.

She breathed deeply as she pushed the blanket from her damp body. She must have sweated through the night, damn those dreams. She shakily got up from the bed. She stood weakly, slowly shaking her head and wiping her dry tearstained cheeks. She then ran her hands through her loose curls and let out a long sigh.

After a moment she walked to the window, simultaneously furrowing her brows. It was closed, and she certainly hadn't remembered shutting it last night. She shrugged her shoulders, dismissing the sudden chill that ran through her body.

_Madame Giry must have closed the window some time last night or perhaps this morning. _

Christine briefly smiled at the thought of Madame Giry possibly looking in on her while she undesirably succumbed to her haunting dreams. She was ever the giving woman, a strong woman, for Christine knew Madame Giry was struggling with the loss of Erik as horridly as she was, perhaps even more so, for they'd known another for twenty-five long years.

Christine sighed, pushing those dreary thoughts aside, as she wrapped her arms about her body and turned to the bed.

She froze, letting out a soft gasp, her eyes widening.

_I hadn't imagined it._

"Erik," she breathed as she saw the long stemmed crimson rose lying upon the vacant pillow beside her thoroughly used one.

Tears misted her eyes as she timidly sat on the bed and reached her hand out to the beautiful flower, a symbol of his eternal love and devotion.

_He's here. He's come back! He's returned to me! _

Christine grasped the rose, which, she noticed, had had its thorns conveniently removed, and idly brushed it upon her face as she closed her eyes and absorbed its sweet aroma.

"Erik," she breathed again, his name sounding wonderful upon her lips.

She then abruptly opened her eyes as the idea of Erik's being here in this very room with her became suddenly too surreal and incredibly frightening.

"My God," she whispered, pressing the rose to her chest. "How shall I ever face him after what I've done?"

Christine began to panic as she stood from the bed and walked to the window once more, the sun shining upon her face a surprisingly engaging comfort. She needed to collect her frenzied thoughts.

"Perhaps it wasn't him," she consoled to herself. "Perhaps Madame Giry left it for me this morning when she looked in on me." She looked down at the rose in her delicate hands. "But I so want it to be him. I felt him here. I know he's here. It wasn't a dream!"

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing her mind and soul to believe that it had been Erik with her in this very room last night. That he'd furtively spent the night with her in her bed. That he'd returned to her.

_Why didn't you wake me?_

Christine opened her eyes as she unexpectedly felt a dark and powerful presence staring up at her from below.

_It's him!_

_Erik._

He was standing below within the Girys' garden, his amber eyes staring fixedly upon her, his hands in his pockets, his white leather mask glowing beneath the sun.

Tears filled Christine's eyes as she stared intently at the man who would forever possess her. She began to feel slightly uneasy as his eyes seemed to burn right through her, their grace and sorrow invading her very soul. She could see him breathing deeply, his chest gradually rising and falling. His eyes slowly traveled over her body after a moment, then returned to her face, as if he were memorizing every curve, every line, every feature, of her.

Christine let out a long sigh and laid her hand upon the window as she saw Erik's eyes become clouded by tears. It broke her heart. He removed a hand from his pocket and laid it upon his heart. Never taking his eyes off her, he bowed deeply then nodded his head. Christine swallowed hard at his gallant gesture then pushed herself away from the window as he began walking to the cottage, presumably to come to her, disappearing from her sight completely.

Dazed and terrified of being with him in a few short moments, Christine fell upon the bed, the rose still within her hand, her vision still blurred by tears, her body quivering. After a moment she reached her hand out and grasped her dressing gown that lay upon a lush chaise lounge, quickly wrapping it about her goose fleshed body, suddenly shy and afraid of Erik seeing her dressed only in her chemise.

_My God,_ she desolately thought, _how will he even bear to look at me, to speak to me, to…touch me, to trust me? Will I even have the courage to touch him? He must be repulsed by me? I'm certainly repulsed of myself. _

"Oh, God, I don't think I can do this," she whispered as she miserably sat upon the bed once more, the rose lying beside her, her back to the door, her despairing thoughts plaguing and destroying her mind.

She wrapped her arms tightly about her rigid body as she suddenly heard Erik's footsteps from the other side of the closed door. She drew in a sharp breath as she heard his hand upon the doorknob, its click when he turned it to open the door, startling her.

She swallowed hard and closed her eyes as she heard him enter the room, the shut of the door making her slightly jump, then the click of the doorknob once more as Erik apparently locked it.

Christine drew in a deep breath and lightly bit her lip as a heartbreaking silence enveloped the room, her mind screaming within herself, her soul a withered courage that she desperately hoped would return to her within a matter of moments.

*******

"May I join you?" A soft, feminine voice came from behind him.

Erik smiled to himself as he recognized Meg's precious voice. He immediately stood from the chair he'd been sitting in within the gazebo, swiftly turning to her.

"Good morning, Meg." He said simply.

Meg shyly smiled.

"Good morning, Erik."

"Please, sit." He hastily pulled a chair out for her from the table.

"Thank you."

Meg tentatively sat down, Erik graciously pushing the chair closer to the table as she did so. He sat down beside her.

"Would you like some coffee?" He offered, gesturing to the beverage filled tray.

Meg shook her head.

"No, thank you. I'm fine."

Erik nodded, clasping his hands in his lap. Meg warily smiled and, visibly on impulse, laid her hand upon his shoulder, her timid blue eyes becoming very serious.

"Erik," she spoke softly. "How are you? Are you all right?" She began to speak quicker, never taking a breath between her many questions. "Have you spoken with Christine? She can explain herself, Erik, truly. She didn't, that is, well—" She shook her head, suddenly becoming flustered. "They didn't treat you horribly in that prison did they—"

Erik laid his hand upon Meg's, taking it from his shoulder and bringing it to his lips, stopping her. He then patted her hand as she anxiously removed it from his grasp. He silently chuckled to himself as he saw Meg blush. He hadn't been this charmed in well over a month. It was nice.

"I'm fine, Meg."

Meg narrowed her eyes, studying him. Erik knew she didn't believe him. He didn't even believe himself.

"Really, Erik," she said dryly. "Because I don't think I believe you."

Erik let out a long breath, Meg's charm and innocence no longer that pleasant comfort it'd once been. He'd forgotten how direct she could be. Yet her sweetness and her directness weren't enough, not really. Nothing ever seemed to be enough any longer. No matter that the world still continued its vibrant life, no matter that it hadn't stopped turning. His had. His world was nothing without Christine and even the pleasant distraction of a former lover did naught to mollify him. He needed Christine.

"No," he stated tersely after a moment, suddenly exasperated. He shook his head. "I'm not all right."

"I-I'm sorry," Meg stuttered, evidently abashed. "I shouldn't be here. I-I hadn't meant to bother you. I should go."

Meg abruptly stood and turned to leave the gazebo, but Erik grasped her hand, stopping her. He felt horrible. He shouldn't be taking his anger and despair out on her. She didn't deserve this.

"You aren't bothering me, Meg. Please, stay. I'm the one who should be sorry."

Erik saw Meg swallow hard as her eyes bore into his, their blue depths reflecting her harried thoughts. After some time, she walked back to her chair and slowly sat once more. She nodded, subtly gesturing for him to continue.

"I haven't spoken with her. She was still asleep when I awoke this morning." Erik groaned. "Well, when I left her this morning. I never did succumb to sleep. I rose at dawn and came out here—"

"I know." Meg unexpectedly stated.

Erik stared incredulously at her.

"Oh." He said plainly, understanding after a moment.

She was concerned. Of course she'd been alert of his every move. She was ever like her mother. Erik distractedly clenched his jaw, torn between her thoughtfulness and the unsettling thought of her possibly believing, or hoping, that they'd be together again someday, that he'd leave Christine, thus her concern, her watchfulness.

He stared fixedly at her, pleading with himself to understand her intentions completely.

Erik shook his head vigorously after some time, immediately pushing his thoughts of Meg wanting him once more away. She knew how in love he was with Christine, that his soul belonged to her. She wouldn't dare to believe or hope that they'd become one again in the future.

He internally berated himself.

_You foolish, selfish man, you are hurting Meg once more by being here! Can't you do anything right? _

He saw Meg nervously bite her bottom lip, directly bringing him back to their conversation. She was clearly embarrassed by her admittance of seeing him this morning.

"That was sweet of you, Erik." She boldly continued.

Erik furrowed his brows, still not entirely aware of his surroundings, his thoughts upon the two women he'd ever amorously cared for, and ultimately hurt, still on his mind.

"I—" He hopelessly began.

"The rose—" Meg intruded, seeing his struggle.

"Oh, yes! The rose," Erik exclaimed, inadvertently depressing him.

He'd debated with his crazed mind for quite some time once he'd seen the crimson rose bushes this morning. He'd wanted nothing more than to pick them all, remove all their wretched thorns and bring them to a sleeping Christine. To wake her with their sweet fragrance and then take her in his desperate embrace and declare his eternal love for her, to declare that he needed her in his life, no matter what she thought otherwise, no matter what she'd sacrificed for his life.

But he hadn't.

Instead, he'd only found the courage to bring one flourishing rose to Christine then stood as still as stone as he keenly gazed upon his sleeping beauty. He hadn't the strength to wake her, her dry tearstained cheeks and her sweating body nearly killing him. Her sleeping body betrayed nothing of the hurt and pain she'd been suffering this last month. He'd left abruptly then, no longer able to watch her without wanting to touch her, to possess her, to love her, to promise her that everything was going to be all right. But he couldn't. He simply couldn't. She hurt him and he wasn't ready to forgive her, to surrender to her innocence, to her loving beauty. He couldn't surrender to _his_ weakness of forever wanting her. He couldn't, damn it!

"I saw you pick it this morning." Meg apprehensively continued, pulling Erik back into the depths of their troubled discussion. "I assumed you brought it to Christine."

"Yes, I did. I—" he paused for a long moment, rubbing his face in his hands, slowly coming to grips with reality. "I want her to know I'm here, that I'm not going anywhere."

Meg reached her hand out to him and laid it upon his arm on the table.

"She knows, Erik."

Erik tremulously smiled, laying his hand upon hers.

"Thank you, Meg."

They stared at another for a long while until Meg hastily looked away, gazing upon the gardens.

"Perhaps you should go and speak with her now, Erik, even if it means waking her. She needs you."

Erik looked upon the lush gardens, too, the copious species of flowers soothing him.

"I need her, too, Meg."

"Then go, Erik." She laid her hand upon his unmasked cheek as she stood from the table. "Go," she encouraged him again, looking carefully into his eyes.

Erik nodded then slowly stood from the table, taking Meg in his arms.

"It's good to see you, Meg."

Meg uneasily laughed as she held him closer.

"It's good to see you, too, Erik. I've missed you."

Erik pulled away from her. He smiled down at her as he pushed a flaxen curl behind her ear. He then gently grasped her chin and kissed her forehead.

"I've missed you, too, Meg." He whispered.

Meg amiably smiled at his words.

He squeezed her elbow and left the gazebo, thrusting his sweating hands into his pockets, suddenly very afraid and extremely nervous. But he kept walking, the anticipation of seeing Christine, of speaking with her, becoming eerily daunting. He was trembling, for God's sake—

Erik abruptly stopped within the gardens, his stomach churning, as Christine's lithe figure standing before the window above him captured his complete attention.

He breathed deeply, her beauty consuming him.

Her eyes were closed, her mind visibly in another world, perhaps another time_…perhaps with me._ Erik shook his head at his desired hope, but his eyes stayed upon Christine. She obviously hadn't any idea he was standing there, gazing up at her, his heart in his eyes, his soul boring into hers. She truly was in another world.

_Look at me, my sweet love. Please, look at me. I'm here, and I need you._

As if their minds were one, just as their souls would forever be, Christine opened her eyes, fixedly staring down into his.

Erik lost his breath as her sparkling hazel eyes, filled with such tormenting sadness, bore into his grieving amber ones, his crimson rose in her delicate hand. He then desperately stared upon her entire body, into her very soul, memorizing every cure, every line, every feature, her grace and elegance, her complete innocence compelling him, enchanting him…saving _his_ own shattered soul.

_God, I love you, Christine Daaé, I need you more than you could ever know._

Tears filled his eyes then, the thought of possibly losing her beautiful soul, of being unable to save her from that damnable Duc de Pomeroy, breaking his heart. He swallowed hard as she fearfully laid a hand upon the window, as if she were reaching out to him, desperately pleading with him to come to her. It besieged him.

After a moment he laid a hand upon his heart and bowed to her, gently nodding his head, never daring to take his eyes off her. He needed her to see, to _know,_ that he was here. That he would never leave her, that their souls were forever one. He needed her to believe him, to trust him!

Determined, Erik began marching to the cottage, unable to delay his being with her any longer. He was here now and he wasn't leaving her ever again, he wasn't going anywhere.

He roughly opened the door, quickly shutting it behind him, and then hastily walked to the stairs, taking two at a time, as he restlessly walked down the hall to Christine's bedroom. He drew in a heavy breath then grasped the doorknob and opened the door, suddenly afraid to look at her, his eyes upon the floor, as he closed the door behind him and locked it.

After a long moment of staring intently at the floor, he finally found the courage to look upon the woman who would forever touch his soul.

Tears misted his eyes as he saw her, her dressing gown on now, the rose he'd left for her this morning, laying beside her. Her back was to him as she dejectedly sat upon the bed, her arms held tightly about her body. Erik hadn't any idea if she were crying or not. Her body was trembling yet she didn't seem to be shaking with hysteria.

Her long brown curls flowed down her back, enticing him. He'd wanted nothing more than to sit with her on the bed and bury his face within those luscious curls and weep and hide, to escape from this dark, cruel world.

She looked so lost and helpless, so…_alone._

_Oh, Christine…_

Erik dolefully leaned against the door. He sheepishly thrust his hands into his pockets and opened his mouth to speak.

"You're here." Christine suddenly spoke, very softly.

No matter how inane her words were. Those simple words had immediately stopped him from expressing whatever it was he'd meant to say. Erik found himself utterly speechless.

Her voice intoxicated him. No matter its sorrow, its complete sadness. He would have given everything to hear her voice once more, and it hadn't been until this very moment that he'd realized how foolish he'd been. He should have returned to her without delay upon his release. He should have woken her last night, should have wept with her, have held her. He should have made love to her last night no matter the ill-fated encounter that would afflict them the next morning!

_Damn you! She needed you! Yet you thought of nothing but yourself, prolonging the inevitable of being together again. Damn you!_

Erik cleared his throat, finally finding the courage to speak.

"Yes. I'm here." He said absolutely.

_And I'm not going anywhere._

She was silent for quite some time. Erik saw her take in a deep breath.

_Please, look at me, Christine. I need to see you. _

"You're safe," she murmured, speaking very slowly. "I knew they released you, but you disappeared. I worried for you. I thought—" She stopped, choking upon her words. Erik saw her lay her hand upon her mouth. Her shoulders shook. She was fighting back her tears. It broke him.

"I'm sorry, Christine. I never meant for you to worry. I—" He paused, angry and disappointed with himself. He should have known that she'd worry, that she'd wonder endlessly if he were indeed still alive, that something horrible may have happened to him upon his release. "I'm sorry." He simply said after a long while, wholly at a loss for words. "I'm so damn sorry."

Christine shook her head, evidently dismissing his apologies. She continued on.

"You must know why you were released."

Erik clenched his jaw at her words. He drew in a slow and steady breath.

"Yes. I do." He said firmly after a moment.

"Oh, God," she suddenly cried, laying her face in her hands. She wept.

Erik walked to her in two long strides and kneeled before her. He went to take her hands in his but desisted. He was afraid to touch her. Would she even want him to touch her?

He held back tears as he thought of that horrid possibility. But this conversation needed to happen. He needed to know. No matter that he was terrified of the answer, terrified of her tears and sorrow, of her unhappiness, her regret. He simply had to know.

Christine continued to weep as Erik reluctantly took her hands in his, pulling them away from her face. She immediately tensed, causing him to hold them loosely, gently caressing them. His eyes widened then, relief sweeping through him, as he saw his gold ring upon her left finger.

_She's wearing my ring still, the very symbol of my love for her. That has to mean something! Thank God! _

She stared down at their entwined hands. Then, after a long moment, she pulled them away from his grasp and wrapped her hands about her body. Erik swallowed hard, especially hurt by her rejection. He shook his head. He should have known.

He drew in a long breath, laying his hands upon his knees. He then looked deeply into Christine's eyes, daring her to look away as he finally asked the question that had haunted his mind for the last month.

"Why, Christine?" He precariously asked. "Why?"

Christine stood from the bed and walked around to the other side of it. She wiped her wet cheeks, sighed deeply then wrapped her arms about her body again.

"You know why, Erik." She finally professed, her voice scarcely above a whisper. She slowly turned to look at him, staring vigilantly into his eyes. "I didn't have a choice."

"Yes, you did—"

"No!" She shouted. "I didn't have a choice, Erik! Your life isn't a choice." She scoffed, throwing her hands in the air. "Don't you get it? Don't you understand? I need you alive, Erik! No matter that you would hate me for what I'd done, that you would leave me! I need you to live! You are a wonderful, brilliant man, Erik. If—" Her voice suddenly became a fervent whisper. "If you were dead—" She shook her head. "I couldn't bear it, couldn't even imagine it! I cannot even think of it without becoming incredibly frightened! I didn't have a choice." She softly repeated.

She helplessly fell upon the bed, staring distractedly down at the floor, her hair falling upon her face, shielding her anguished eyes from Erik's.

Erik stared at her feeble form incredulously. Did she truly think he hated her? He hated the Duc de Pomeroy for what he'd done, not her, damn it!

_I could never hate you, Christine. God, what has this man done to you?_

After a moment Erik hesitantly walked toward his weeping angel and sat beside her on the bed.

"I don't hate you, Christine." He murmured after some time. "Quite the contrary, actually," he cautiously smiled, reaching out for her small hand and taking it into his much larger one. He leaned toward her and whispered in her ear. "I like you very much." He declared, praying his words would make her smile, perhaps even laugh.

"Don't," she brusquely stated, pulling her hand away from his again. "Please, don't."

_Quite the contrary, indeed,_ he thought glumly.

They sat for quite a long while, both seemingly too frightened to speak, too afraid to hurt the other, to say the wrong thing, to do anything. Erik hadn't any idea how to approach this delicate matter. All he knew was that he couldn't—wouldn't—lose her, even if it meant viciously fighting with her to convince her otherwise. He wasn't leaving, not without her. They belonged together.

"How can you bear to touch me?" Her soft voice asked, breaking into his thoughts, and instantly alarming him.

"What—"

"How, Erik?" She asked again, standing before him. "How can you touch me or look at me? How can you speak with me after what I've done to you? How can you ever trust me again?"

Erik stood resolutely from the bed, towering over her, unconsciously threatening her much smaller self, his broad shoulders paralleling her beautiful face. She took a step back, perhaps slightly anxious of him, yet never took her eyes off his.

"How, Erik?" She asked again after some time.

"You haven't done anything to me, Christine."

"How can you say that?" She asked dubiously. "How can you believe that? I gave my body to another man!" She became hysterical as she began vigorously pacing the room.

"Christine—"

"No, Erik! Please, tell me how you can honestly believe I haven't done anything to you. Tell me!"

"You weren't willing—" He sternly began.

"I was willing!" She yelled, stopping dead in her tracks and staring fixedly upon him.

Erik tightened his jaw at her devastating words. He clenched his fists, desperately praying to all that was good that he would sustain his patience and temper. He swallowed hard and spoke very softly.

"Yes. But you didn't want him, Christine."

_Please tell me you didn't want him_

Christine stared at him uncertainly, her hazel eyes succumbing to her seemingly everlasting tears.

"No. I didn't." She said very quietly after a moment. "I wanted you, Erik, always you. I wanted you to live, even if it meant you living without me."

Erik shook his head as he walked to her, reaching out to touch her. But once again she turned away from him.

_Why won't you let me touch you? _

"You will never live without me, Christine. Never," he vowed. "I promise you this."

She miserably shook her head, swiftly looking away from him.

Erik ran his hands through his hair then leaned over the bed and grasped her crimson rose. He briefly kissed it, inhaled its sweet fragrance, and then held it out to her.

"Ambrosia," he whispered, a word he'd said to her only once before, when he'd taken in the exotic scent of her, a scent that had consumed him. Yet he'd truly meant it in allusion to her radiant soul, and she understood completely, professing her love to him once more.

He only hoped she remembered what he truly meant by saying it now, that she remembered that tender moment together from one long month ago.

"You have my soul, Christine."

She distantly nodded, her eyes still fixed upon the rose.

Erik slowly walked to her and ever so gently grasped her chin between his deft fingers, forcing her to look up at him.

"You hurt me, Christine."

"I know, Erik." She breathed softly. "I'm sorry—"

"No," he abruptly stopped her. "Don't you dare say you're sorry! I forbid it."

Christine hastily shook her head as Erik took her in his arms.

"Erik—"

Erik held her closer as he broke off her words with a passionate kiss. He couldn't stand it any longer. He had to touch her, to consume her. He desperately needed her to know that she belonged to him. And he wanted nothing more than to show her through his touch, his kiss, his caress, that he belonged to her. He wanted to purge her thoughts of the Duc de Pomeroy, his touch, his kiss, his caress, from her mind.

_I'm yours, Christine!_

Yet she wouldn't succumb. She roughly pushed against him, simultaneously dropping the rose. She moaned and writhed beneath him, her voice and body a dark reflection of fear and despair. He held her closer, his hands tangled in her wild curls, but she somehow managed to slip her arms between their bodies, grabbing his face between her hands and aggressively breaking his kiss. He grudgingly relented, pulling away from her. She slapped him.

Suddenly enraged and distraught, Erik began to lose his temper, his patience completely moot now.

"Harder, Christine, damn it, hit me harder. Fight me!" He seethed.

Christine bit her bottom lip, her eyes swelling with tears.

"Damn it," Erik bellowed, her tears breaking his heart. He grabbed her shoulders. "Do you think I want this?" His fingers dug deeper into her flesh. "Christine, please—"

"Stop it! You're hurting me! Don't touch me!" She screamed, pushing against his chest.

Erik's eyes widened at her pleading words, instantly frightening him. He immediately let go of her, pulling away from her completely. He marched to the other side of the room as she wrapped her arms about her body and turned away from him in return.

He ran his hands through his hair then rubbed them down upon his face. He was completely incensed and utterly exhausted.

Then a terrifying thought occurred to him.

"My God, I'm just like him!" He muttered revoltingly. "I'm just like him." He declared again, but with more conviction. He saw Christine immediately look toward him, his horrifying words capturing her attention. Now he was the one vigorously pacing the room.

"Look at me! Forcing you to touch me, to want me, to surrender to me! It's just as before!"

Christine stared disbelievingly at him.

"Erik?"

He ignored her concerned voice.

"He gave you an ultimatum, Christine. A choice," he ruthlessly continued, suddenly having a rhetorical conversation with his own self. "It was the same choice I'd given you almost five years ago—"

"Erik, no," Christine pleaded. "Don't do this. Don't—"

But he wouldn't listen, refused to listen.

"He coerced you into giving your body to save _my _life. Just as I had coerced you into giving your body to save the _Vicomte's _life! My God," he inconsolably proclaimed, "it's just as before! I'm just like him!"

Christine marched toward him. She grabbed his face between her hands. It'd been the first time she'd willingly touched him in well over a month.

"No, Erik," she spoke harshly. "You're wrong. You are nothing like him! He is a horrible, disgusting man! You are the most beautiful man I have ever known!"

Erik tried to pull away from her but she wouldn't yield.

"You let me go, Erik!" She furiously continued. "Because you loved me you let me go! I was nothing but a hole to him! But with you, Erik, I was everything to you, and nothing to him! You loved me! Damn it, you're a good man, Erik! You let me go!"

Erik still refused to listen, to submit to reality, to the truth of his letting her go in the end, of her sacrifice being in vain because he hadn't the courage to coerce his innocent Angel of Music into an eternal life of Hell and solitude with him. He refused to listen to the truth. Suddenly, his insecure and mad self clouded his mind once more, slowly destroying and possessing him.

Yet Christine adamantly continued, blatantly determined to save him, to prove to him that he was nothing like the Duc de Pomeroy, that he was a good man.

"I don't believe for one second that you would have taken me against my will—"

"No, Christine," Erik yelled.

He strode toward her, pressing her body against the wall, his body merged with hers, purposely intimidating her. He laid his hands upon the wall, her vexed face caught between them.

"Did you believe that then, Christine? Did you? You said so yourself not so long ago that you were terrified of me then! Can you really believe what you're saying now? I could have taken you against your will! You know it! Now, tell me! Did you believe then that you would have been safe with the monster I'd become all those years ago?"

She trembled. Yet her fierce hazel eyes bore deeply into his. She wouldn't yield yet wouldn't comply, either.

"Tell me!" He roared after a moment.

"I-I don't know." She cried. "I truly don't know!" She pushed against him. "Get off me! Don't. Touch. Me." She begged through clenched teeth, tears streaming down her face now. "Please."

"Son of a bitch," Erik bellowed.

He pulled away from her as she fell to the floor, clutching her knees to her chest. She laid her head in her curled body and wept.

_You fucking monster! I thought you were gone, never to return! Damn it!_

"Oh, God, Christine," he wept after a moment. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry." He cried, falling to his knees before her.

He reached out to touch her, to comfort her, but stopped himself.

_Don't touch me._

Her wounding words rang out within his demented mind.

_What have I done?_

They were both silent for a very long while. Erik miserably listened to Christine's quiet sobs, inevitably bringing tears to his own eyes, his cheeks soon wet with them. He rubbed his left cheek then laid his hand upon his masked one. Desperately wanting to rip it off his face and rid of it forever, but too frightened to do so, Erik miserably dropped his hands in his lap, dismally staring at them. He'd been too absorbed with his pathetic self to notice that Christine had been watching him closely.

She slowly reached her hand out and lightly grazed his mask. She then gently grasped it, lifting it off his face and laying it upon the floor. She picked the hem of her dressing gown from off the floor, silently offering it to him, subtly gesturing for him to use it for his tearstained cheeks.

Erik stared incredulously at his divine angel then tenderly acquiesced, his hand briefly brushing hers. He quickly wiped the tears from his face then laid her gown back upon the floor.

He drew in a deep breath and softly continued. His temper, his mind, finally brought back under his control_…because of her._

"I don't know, either, Christine. And it scares the hell out of me! You hadn't any idea of what I was capable of then. I didn't, either. I wanted you so desperately, so incredibly much, that I would have done anything to have you, to not just be inside your mind, but your body as well! And I did take your mind from you, through deception and lies, through whatever means possible!" He began weeping. "But to take your body against your will, Christine," he murmured despairingly between sobs. "I don't know. I've wondered for years if I would have been capable of such an evil thing. I would never want to hurt you! But my body…I couldn't control it. I'd never known the joys of the flesh, Christine, just as I'd told you that…despicable night." He stared intently at her. "It scares me, Christine. To think of the things I could have done to you. It scares me."

Christine remained quiet for some time, her eyes never leaving his. After a moment she turned away from him, her eyes now upon the crimson rose and his mask that lay beside it. She gently lifted them both in her trembling hands and held them out to him. Erik tentatively took them in his hands.

"You have my soul, too, Erik." She simply whispered.

She steadily rose from the floor, wrapped her dressing gown tighter about her body then left the room without another word, without a second glance.

Erik stared down at his mask and rose for what seemed an eternity, his myriad thoughts endless. He then dropped them upon the floor, laid his face in his hands and wept.


	32. Christine's Truth

_**Chapter Thirty-One: Christine's Truth **_

Erik sat within the Girys' music room, lightly tapping his thigh with his hand as he anxiously contemplated whether or not he should share Christine's bed tonight.

He began restlessly pacing the candlelit room, eventually stopping in front of the small window. He looked out into the moonlit sky, the stars brighter than the night before. He slowly exhaled.

He knew he shouldn't disturb Christine, that he shouldn't chance entering her room without her acquiescence. He knew she was on edge, whether it was because of him or the Duc de Pomeroy, or both, he hadn't any idea.

Erik leaned against the window, his mind exhausted.

The cottage was disturbingly quiet. It was quite late in the evening and it seemed everyone were asleep but him.

Erik furrowed his brow as he suddenly wondered if Christine was sleeping.

_Probably not,_ he thought sorrowfully.

He turned then to face the piano. He gazed upon it for some time then gradually walked toward it. He sat down on the bench, stretched his fingers, and then laid them upon the ivory keys. Perhaps if he began to play Christine would come to him. Perhaps they would survive and triumph over this dire situation through his music. It seemed reasonable. His music had saved her once before.

Erik frustratingly shook his head, realizing he didn't wish to use his music as words, to lure her with his everlasting passion of it. She needed _him,_ not his music. Not now.

He nodded to himself, believing he was making the right decision.

_She needs you._

Meg's words echoed throughout his solemn mind.

After his and Christine's disheartening argument this morning, she'd done naught but avoid him. She'd avoided everyone. She kept to herself within the Girys' gardens, immediately leaving it and marching up to her room when he'd tried to speak with her once more. He'd meant to go after her but Berenice had suddenly appeared within the doorway, stopping him, allowing Christine to get away. It'd infuriated Erik, but he knew Berenice were right. Christine needed to be alone.

But Erik needed Christine. He was tired of being alone, of being without her, damn it.

He abruptly stood from the piano then, grasped a lit candlestick and left the music room, swiftly walking down the hall, like the phantom he'd always be, to Christine's room.

He stood outside her bedroom for a long while, a pattern he seemed to develop over the last twenty-four hours, intensely debating with himself whether or not this would be one of his less than brilliant ideas.

_I wouldn't lay with her, perhaps. I just need to be near her. _Erik nodded to himself reassuringly. _I'll sleep on the floor. _

His mind resolutely decided, Erik gently turned the doorknob and very quietly opened the door. He carefully entered the room, softly shutting the door behind him. He laid the candlestick upon the small chiffonier near the door.

Once settled within the room he turned to find Christine in a surprisingly deep sleep, her eternal innocence as she slept an unparalleled comfort.

Erik smiled as he stared fixedly at his sleeping angel. She had the window open once more, the shining moon upon her. Her blanket upon her, she seemed to be sleeping dreamlessly, her face completely inert as she lay upon her side, an arm lying carelessly upon her pillow beside her head, the other lain across her stomach.

_You're so beautiful._

He couldn't help himself any longer. He needed to touch her. He'd always been too helpless to resist her, especially once he'd abducted her through the mirror five years ago, the first time he'd ever _touched_ her.

He deftly sat upon the bed and reached out his hand to caress her hair. Her steady breathing slightly changed, starling him. Not wanting to wake her, he anxiously pulled his hand away, intently watching her.

After a moment she rolled onto her other side, her back to him now, but she hadn't wakened.

Erik sighed with resignation, relief sweeping through him. He then lay down next to her. His decision from earlier to sleep on the floor completely irrelevant now, and curled his body beside hers, his chest carefully pressed against her back.

He hesitantly laid his arm upon hers, blindly searching for her hand, wanting to interlace his hand with hers.

He then stopped immediately as he felt Christine suddenly tense beneath him. She began twisting and writhing, turning to face him, her eyes glowing with fear and anger. She sat up, violently climbing upon him, and began punching his chest with her clenched fists.

Completely taken aback, Erik desperately wondered if she were still asleep, if she were having some terrible nightmare that he'd unknowingly interrupted.

_Impossible! She was in a dreamless sleep! I know it! Damn it, what have I done?_

"Christine!" He yelled, finally coming to his senses. She truly didn't want him to touch her, to be near her. It devastated him.

He grabbed her arms as she ruthlessly continued to attack him. But she pulled away before he could take control, flinging her arms about, knocking his mask off his face.

"Don't touch me! Leave me alone!" She screamed.

Erik bent his knees, trapping her between his strong thighs and chest, as he simultaneously sat up, forcing her body against his.

"Christine, please, I know this isn't what you want—"

"No! Stop it! I don't want _you_ to touch me! I don't _want _to be touched!"

She began frantically pushing against him, clearly fighting with what little strength she had.

Unable to take it anymore, Erik furiously rolled her off him, slamming her upon the bed. She let out a small cry of frustration filled with despair, paining him.

He jumped from the bed and threw himself against the wall.

"My God," he roared. "What did he do to you, Christine?"

She was sobbing now, but at his words she jerked her head toward him, giving him her complete attention. They stared at another for a long while, both breathing heavily, both haunted by the same man. Erik didn't dare move, though the urge to reach out to her and take her into his arms was excruciating.

After some time Christine hastily wiped the tears away from her face, as if she'd suddenly realized that she'd attacked him, then stood from the bed. She reached down to the floor, picked up his mask and laid it gently on the bed. She then stormed past him and left the room.

Erik stood against the wall utterly flabbergasted. He stared at his mask upon the bed until her lithe figure caught his eye through the window from across the room. She was running to the gazebo, her arms wrapped tightly about her body. He hadn't even heard her leave the cottage. He quickly walked across the room, grabbed her dressing gown that was left on the chaise lounge for modesty's sake, forgetting his own modesty in his mask which she'd left on the bed, too determined to be with her, too frightened for her to care about himself.

He didn't want a repeat of this morning. They were going to finish this, whether she cared to or not. For everything had suddenly become so clear to him. Why she was pulling away from him, why she wouldn't let him touch her. Everything was so _terrifyingly_ clear. He only hoped he wasn't too late. He had to save her.

Erik turned to go but stopped dead in his tracks as he came face to face with an enraged Berenice.

"What in God's name is wrong with you?" She demanded through gritted teeth.

Erik opened his mouth to speak but then thought better of it. He walked to the door but Berenice wouldn't let him go.

"Let me pass," he spoke severely.

"Erik—"

"Berenice, you will let me pass. This is between Christine and me." He boldly stated. "I need her."

Berenice stared fixedly at him, her dark eyes burning into his.

"Erik, her mind is fragile right now. I swear to you, if you hurt her—"

"I would never hurt her." He said curtly. "You of all people should know that, Berenice."

She stared angrily at him for a moment then appallingly shook her head. She stood to the side then, letting him pass.

Erik said nothing as he marched past her, their shoulders briefly touching.

He determinedly proceeded down the hall, down the stairs and out into the peaceful night, though his mind was raving.

_I will save you._ He silently promised to Christine as he breathed the fresh, summer air and walked into the Girys' gardens.

He cautiously approached the gazebo, Christine's back to him. She was looking out into the shadowed flower gardens, her arms still wrapped about her. Despite the warm night, she was trembling, whether of fear or an unseen chill, Erik wasn't entirely sure.

He swallowed hard as he ascended the steps to the gazebo and slowly walked toward her. He opened the dressing gown to wrap it about her shoulders but then miserably remembered that she feared his touch.

"I brought your dressing gown." He stated inanely, laying it on the rail beside her instead.

She didn't look down at the gown but nodded with acknowledgement.

Erik smoothly exhaled, thrusting his hands in his pockets. He stood beside her but kept a respectable distance between them. He didn't want to frighten her though it killed him that she couldn't bear his touch_…for now._ But he'd finally understood. He only hoped he was right, and if so, that he could save her still.

After a moment Christine grasped her dressing gown and wrapped it about her body.

"Thank you." She said softly.

Erik briefly smiled.

"Of course," he said simply.

_It was a start._

They were quiet then, but it was a comfortable silence. Erik was still very uneasy yet his revelation to himself, coincided with his complete understanding, as to why Christine didn't want any physical intimacy between them, had soothed him.

He cleared his throat, ready to confront Hell itself if need be.

"I touched you against your will." He stated absurdly.

Christine drew in a deep breath then slowly let it out. She swallowed hard.

"Yes." She said.

"I touched you against your will." He carefully repeated. "That's why you attacked me tonight, and this morning when I kissed you. It's why you won't let me touch you. You need to assure yourself that you have control over your body still. He touched you against your will but there was nothing you could do, you couldn't stop him. But with me—you have control. You can stop me, knowing that I'd comply, that I would never hurt you."

She dazedly nodded.

Erik looked up into the starry night, slightly nodding his head. He closed his eyes briefly then exhaled a long breath.

"Christine—"

"It's as if he's still…inside me." She finally confessed.

Erik jerked his head toward her the moment he heard her despairing admission, forgetting his own words completely. Her voice was so soft, so filled with grief. It killed him.

"As if he's crawled within my mind and body forever," she murmured, still looking out into the gardens, her mind in another place, with another man. She wasn't there with Erik, not really. "He won't leave, Erik, and it scares me. I-I don't know what to do. I want you to touch me, Erik. I need you with me again. It's just—" She began choking over her words. "I can't."

Instinctively, Erik walked to her, reaching his hand out to take her in his arms. But he stopped, clenching his outstretched hand into a fist then dropping it to his side.

"When I was…with him," Christine slowly continued, "I desperately wanted to fight back, knowing that I couldn't, that I wouldn't. My control was gone. I was helpless."

She inhaled deeply, clearly struggling. Erik walked closer to her, standing slightly behind her, hoping that his body, his presence, would be a subtle comfort.

"Go on." He said very softly.

"This past month I've constantly wondered 'what if?' What if I had denied him, fought back? Yet I wouldn't deny him knowing it'd mean your life. But would he have stopped if I'd asked him to in the end? If I had lost the courage to…sleep with him? Would he still have taken me against my will? Would he have raped me? I'd done nothing to stop him, Erik. Nothing," she said scathingly. "It's all so very twisted! I willingly went to him, knowing I'd find myself in his bed to save your life. Yet I still wonder 'what if?' Philippe assured me that words wouldn't be enough for him. That only my body would do. But I can't help but wonder if I could have stopped him and still have saved your life." She became very quiet. "I felt so powerless."

She spoke with such despair, such regret, that Erik couldn't help himself any longer. Very carefully, he stood completely behind her and gently laid his hands upon her shoulders, gently pulling her against him. Christine tensed, but after a moment, relaxed, letting out a strange yet sweet sigh.

"I think he wanted you very badly, Christine." Erik spoke guardedly.

Christine distantly nodded her head.

"Yes," she said after a moment. "He said as much."

She scoffed then, startling Erik.

"First Henri then the Duc," she began to cry now. "It's as if I don't even know my own body anymore, as if I don't even know myself! I need that control again." She paused. "I'm afraid, Erik." She whispered.

Erik gritted his jaw at her painful words.

Yes, he understood completely.

She couldn't do this alone any longer though, whether she knew so or not. She needed him.

Erik briefly closed his eyes, finding the courage to ask the very question he'd been longing to know the answer to, one of many. But the question was still frigid upon his lips. It terrified him, yet he had to know, needed to know, not only for himself, but for Christine, as well. He didn't wish for her to fight this alone anymore. He didn't want her to live this burden without him. He wanted to help her, to heal her.

"What happened, Christine?"

Erik felt her tense at his words. She then pulled away from him and walked to the other side of the gazebo. She laid her hands upon the rail, clinging to it so intensely that Erik could see her knuckles turn white.

Erik began to silently berate himself, suddenly regretting asking her for the truth, his courage wilting away. He shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Christine. If you aren't ready—" He paused. "If you don't wish to tell me," he amended, "I'll understand."

She was quiet for some time, her back to him. Erik thrust his hands in his pockets and began pacing the gazebo, seeking an empty distraction.

"I went to his home the morning after Raoul and Philippe returned from their meeting with him unsuccessful." She began unexpectedly.

Erik stopped abruptly, turning to her. He stared fixedly upon her, his heart pounding, his stomach churning. He was trembling with fear.

"When I had arrived I was informed that he'd been expecting me."

Erik seethed at her words.

_That son of a bitch!_

That man knew exactly what he was doing. Christine never had a say in the matter from the very beginning, no matter what she may have believed otherwise. She was lost.

"He would only see me in his bedchambers." She continued, her voice distant, quiet, as if she'd forgotten Erik were there, as if she were speaking to a ghost. "I was taken aback by this when his butler told me." She shrugged her shoulders. "But I should have known." She slowly exhaled.

Erik held back the urge to go to her, to take her in his arms and crush him to his chest, to protect her, to shield her from the evil and darkness of this world, an evil and darkness that he'd once been consumed by.

"Once there he told me that he'd been there that…night. That he was in the audience the night you and I performed together."

Erik froze at her staggering statement then shook his head.

_He's wanted her for longer than anyone could have possibly known. Any man in the audience that night would have desired Christine, as if it were the most natural thing in this world. She was divine that night, so beguiling, an erotic goddess! She was everything a man would ever want in a woman, innocence and passion combined. She was everything. _

Erik shook his head again, his world slowly crumbling. That night had truly sealed their fates in more ways than they ever could have predicted.

"He's wanted you for some time then." He quietly spoke, not really understanding why he said as much.

Christine nodded with compliance.

"Yes. He did."

Erik removed his hands from his pockets, laying them upon the glass table, steadying himself. He felt as if he might be sick.

"Go on." He said after a moment, not for the first time that night.

She drew in a low breath. Erik noticed she was trembling. He walked to her and stood beside her. She surprisingly held her hand out to him. Erik stared at it for a long time, then at her, but she didn't look at him in return. He finally entwined his hand with hers and gently squeezed it.

"Go on, Christine," he tenderly obliged her again.

"He wanted me to…perform for him, Erik."

Erik furrowed his brows at this. Then suddenly became incensed as the haunting realization came over him. But he wouldn't say a word. She needed to tell him everything on her own. He couldn't indulge her any longer. Only she could want him to know, not because he asked it of her, but because she needed—wanted—him to know.

"He wanted me to be his lover in every sense of the word. He wanted me to _enjoy_ it, to indulge him." She paused, biting her bottom lip. "I think he wanted me to become 'Aminta' once again." She vigorously shook her head. "I don't know what I'm saying."

Erik fumed as Christine confessed this to him. To think that that vile man wanted Christine to become the woman _he'd _created for his angel, for his love, was exasperating. It infuriated him. Murder flowed through his blood once again at Christine's words.

_We shall meet again one day,_ Erik silently threatened the unknowing Duc.

"He promised your freedom and a pardon if I would _convincingly_ sleep with him. But then his butler interrupted us, in a complete panic."

She voice began to waver, as if she were telling a story she didn't wish to tell again, to live through again, but had lived through over and over in her mind. As if she wouldn't—couldn't—forget it, couldn't let it go. It frightened him.

"The Duc was needed elsewhere and I felt complete relief upon hearing it. I thought for sure he wouldn't…take me, now that he had another priority that must be dealt with."

She squeezed his hand tightly, turning abruptly toward him then, tears streaming down her face.

"I thought it was over! I thought that I wouldn't have to sleep with him! Relief and fear swept through me. Relief that I wouldn't have to give my body to him, and fear that I would…lose you, though I assured myself that there would be another way—" She stumbled over her words now, her wavering voice breaking his heart.

She was quiet now, visibly collecting her thoughts, her emotions. When she spoke once more her voice was extremely steady and very serious.

"But I was wrong."

She pulled away from him, and slightly stood away. There was some space between them, but Erik could still feel her, her nearness a small comfort, despite their shattering souls.

"As I turned to leave he grasped my hand, stopping me, and led me to his bed." Her words suddenly became jumbled, her voice fierce with hate and sorrow. "He laid me down upon the bed, lifted my skirts—"

Erik tensed, his breathing becoming alarmingly heavy.

_Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God…I don't think I can do this._

_But you must._

Erik gripped the gazebo rail hard, desperately trying to steady his mind.

_She needs you._

"Then he was inside me and I felt nothing. My mind went numb, everything was a blur." She despairingly shook her head. "And then it was over."

Erik was devastated but held his ground. She needed him. There was no time for him to mourn over what had been done. She needed him, now, and once this was over, he'd find time for himself to accept and understand what she had done, to find forgiveness. Though he truly believed there was nothing to forgive. But he knew she would want it, that she'd ask for it. Erik knew his sweet angel too well.

"He let me go…after." She continued. "But not before he told me that he wanted me…for good. That he wanted to take care of me if you wouldn't, once you discovered my betrayal."

_You didn't betray me, angel. _

She drew in a slow and solid breath. Erik knew she dreaded her next words, whatever they may be. He found himself naturally dreading them, too.

_Would there ever be peace for us?_

"He wanted me for his mistress."

"Damn it," Erik murmured, finally breaking, and causing Christine to turn toward him. She looked as if she were going to say something but stopped herself. She turned away from him.

Erik rubbed his hand upon his forehead, cursing himself.

"Christine, I—"

Christine raised her hand, stopping him.

"It's all right. I can stop if you—"

Erik shook his head.

"No. I need to hear this." He paused. Then, "Christine," he spoke her name with such seriousness that she turned to him completely, her brow furrowed with concern and fright.

"Christine, are you—" He stopped briefly, stumbling over his words, knowing the answer to his question could change their lives forever. "Are you with child?"

Her eyes bore into his, tears filling them. Erik became very frightened. He felt as if his heart had stopped. His chest and throat tightened.

"Oh, God—"

"No," she nearly shouted, urgently assuring him, laying her hand upon his on the rail. "No," she said more calmly after a moment. "I'm not, Erik."

Erik let out a long sigh of relief, his body shuddering. He closed his eyes, turning his face up toward the night sky, thanking all that was good.

Christine squeezed his hand then pulled hers away, wrapping her arms about her body. She tremulously smiled.

"He—" She cleared her throat. "He didn't finish inside me." She said very slowly, very cautiously. "And I have had my courses since." She confided quietly after a moment.

Erik nodded.

His heart was racing now. He didn't dare wonder what he would have done if the Duc had gotten her with child, and it alarmed him. Would he have been able to claim the child as his own? To love that child unconditionally, knowing it wasn't his, that it wasn't his flesh and blood? Then again, it could have been his. She'd slept with the Duc less than two weeks after they'd spent an intoxicating week of lovemaking together. It just as well could have been his child! But there would always be doubt, and the doubt would always plague their lives. It would possibly destroy them.

Erik shook his head then, pushing his disconcerting thoughts aside. He didn't need to think of this now. He didn't need to think of it ever. She wasn't with child—

"He…violated me, Erik." Christine suddenly confessed, breaking into his dismal thoughts and shattering him completely.

Tears filled his eyes and soon wet his cheeks.

"Oh, Christine," Erik softly sobbed, staring fixedly into her hazel eyes, though she wasn't looking at him. "I know. And I'm so very sorry, angel."

Christine shook her head, dismissing his sentiment.

"I forbid you from saying you're sorry, too, Erik. It was me. All me," she said softly but with such fierceness it frightened him.

Erik opened his mouth to contradict her but stopped himself as Christine turned to him, her eyes deadly serious now.

"Can you ever forgive me?"

Erik watched her intently. He couldn't forgive her because he truly felt there was nothing to forgive. Yes, he was hurt. Yes, it killed him to know that another man had been…with her. Yes, it'd been awful to know that she'd been willing. But she hadn't wanted the Duc. She wanted _him_ to live. Damn it, he was the one who'd left her, who'd forced her to live without him. And because of the situation _he_ had put her in she'd slept with the Duc to save his life when she'd discovered it possible.

_For me, it was all for me._

Erik suddenly wondered what he would have done if he'd been in her ominously hopeless situation.

_You would have done anything! You've killed for her! Certainly, you would do anything for her still!_

Erik rubbed his hand over his mouth as a bleak realization came over him. It wasn't his forgiveness she was truly seeking. She knew that he wasn't going to forgive her, for she'd done nothing to cause him to need to do so. God, what a conundrum they were truly in. Everything seemed backwards. It was morbidly twisted.

Erik faced her wholly, his own eyes deadly serious, now, too.

"I think you need to forgive yourself, Christine."

Christine stared wide-eyed at him then shamefully looked down at her feet. She knew he was right.

Erik continued staring fixedly at her while she refused to look at him, her eyes still focused to the ground. He noticed her wrap her arms tighter about her body.

He couldn't lose her to this. He wouldn't lose her to this.

Desperate, Erik suddenly closed the gap between them, gently pressing Christine against the post of the gazebo. He gently yet firmly grasped her wrists and pinned them above her head on the post, their bodies pressed against another completely.

"Erik—"

"Shh." He soothed.

He could feel her trembling, the trepidation of his possessive touch frightening her. But he had to do this. He had to save her.

"It's just me." He whispered after a moment.

Christine trembled for some time. It hurt Erik to do this to her, but he truly felt there wasn't any other way. She couldn't live the rest of her life in fear, especially if it meant she'd fear him, too. He soon felt Christine relax. She slowly began to succumb to him, to his familiarity, his security, his body.

"You're safe, Christine. I'm here. It's just me. Don't be afraid."

He bent his head down toward her, his lips lightly brushing hers. He could feel her breath upon him, as unsteady and reluctant as it may be. Her breasts were soft against his hard chest, his manhood uncontrollably throbbing against her stomach. They were both breathing heavily, idly pressing their bodies harder against another. It was euphoric.

"Touch me, Christine." Erik quietly demanded after a moment, letting go of her wrists, dropping his hands down by his sides.

She hesitated, but only for a moment. She drew in a deep and steady breath as she gently entwined her hands with his, tenderly caressing his still fingers. Erik daren't move. He wanted her complete trust. He smartly kept his hands by his sides as she continued her uncertain yet erotic journey upon them.

Christine unlaced their entwined fingers, gently grasping his wrists then slid her hands timidly up his arms. Erik never tore his eyes away from hers as she solely concentrated on his body, her touch still unsure, her eyes worried.

Erik swallowed hard, pleading silently with his body to keep himself in check. He was thoroughly aroused, which was plainly evident, but he didn't wish to distress her, didn't wish for her to think that he'd selfishly take his pleasure. This was about her.

She trembled as she laid her hands upon his chest, briefly laying one upon his beating heart. Tears eclipsed Erik's eyes as she then laid her head upon it.

_Please, say something. Tell me to love you, Christine. Oh, God, how I want you._

After a moment she lifted her head off his chest and smoothed her hands up and upon his shoulders then slowly down his back.

It wasn't a touch of seduction, of temptations of the flesh. It was pure and hesitant, innocent and sacred. Erik relished Christine's touch, feeling as if it was their first moment of intimacy together, as if they'd never _known_ another before, as if it were the first night in his lair all over again when he'd seduced her with his music. Yet now it was she unknowingly seducing him. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms, lay her down on the table and bury his throbbing flesh deep inside her soul. But he couldn't. Not now. Not yet.

She laid her hands upon his shoulder blades, lightly kneading them before she slid her hands up along his neck then upon his face, his cheeks now wet with tears. She grasped his face between her hands and tenderly caressed him.

They were both breathing deeply, their tearstained cheeks flushed, their lips slightly parted with anticipation.

Yet Erik could still feel her hesitation, her fear. It pained him. She wiped his tears away from his face then abruptly dropped her hands to her sides. She drew in a low and solid breath and shyly looked away from him.

_This will not do._

Erik had only one last choice left, and he prayed to all that was good that it was the right one. It was his only hope, and if it failed, he was truly lost. And so would be Christine.

She was still vulnerably pinned between the post and his powerful body, her breathing slowly becoming normal once more. After some time, Christine peered up into his eyes, her eyes slightly veiled by her long lashes.

Erik smoothly gripped her hand and subtly laid it upon her most secret area between their bodies. She tensed, her eyes widening with a startling foreboding and wonder.

"Erik?"

"Touch yourself, Christine." Erik boldly commanded, staring fixedly into her eyes.

She looked at him incredulously.

"Erik, I-I can't."

"Yes, you can," he whispered. "I know you can." He said, hoping to delicately remind her of the night he'd played his music for her. She had touched herself then, too, though it'd been brief. It'd been he who'd urgently needed to be inside her, her touch upon herself consuming him. He'd taken her right there on the piano bench after lacing his hand with hers, and, together, made love to her open body for some time before he buried his own flesh within her. It'd been incredibly intoxicating, that night together, for they'd spent it in indulging another in such intimacies the other had never known existed before.

Christine shook her head, trying to pull her hand away from his. But Erik wouldn't have it.

"Christine," he said very seriously. "Trust yourself, only then can you trust your body with mine again. Only then can you trust _me_ again."

"I do trust—"

"No. You don't." He pressed her hand harder against her mound then grasped her skirts with his other hand, slowly lifting them above her shaking knees. He gripped her other hand, placing her gown in it, imploring her to continue his machinations. "Touch yourself, Christine."

She stared dubiously at him for some time, as if she were questioning his sincerity. She then bit her bottom lip as Erik felt her slowly continue to lift her skirts, holding them against her waist.

"Here, let me." Erik said very quietly as he took her skirts in his hands and held them against her waist for her. He leaned into her ear. "Touch yourself, Christine," he said again as he then leaned his forehead against hers.

Christine drew in a deep breath then let out a soft gasp as she dipped her fingers within herself. Erik closed his eyes as he felt her arm and wrist move against him as she began making love to herself.

She continued for a long while, her breathing becoming quicker, soft gasps and faint moans coming every so often between breaths. Erik breathed deeply, too, though his breaths were out of total desperation. He was incredibly aroused, his pulse pounding, his body quivering with desire.

Christine suddenly buried her face in Erik's chest as the delicate thrust of her hand became quicker. Erik could feel her trembling. She bit his chest through his loose white shirt.

"Erik, please, help me." She breathed.

Erik laid his chin upon her head, and letting her skirts go between them, wrapped his arms about her body and held her closer against him.

"I can't, Christine. You must do this for yourself." He squeezed her. "Let yourself go, Christine. Trust yourself."

"Oh, God," she gasped, causing Erik to realize she was on the brink of bringing herself to climax.

"Let yourself go, angel." He whispered once more, encouraging her as he began caressing her back.

She gripped his arm with her free hand then, clinging to him fiercely as she finally did let herself go, letting out a soft moan then a longer gasp as she shuddered in his arms, her breasts pressed hard against him, her grip upon his arm going limp. Erik could feel her heart slamming in her chest. His was, too. He clenched his jaw as he silently pleaded with himself not to finish with her, though his body begged him to.

After a moment, Christine slipped her hand free from her dewy flesh, simultaneously moving slightly away from him as she let her skirts drop to the ground around her feet. She lifted her hand, studying it intently, her sweet essence upon it seeming to fascinate her.

She began to wipe her hand clean with Erik stopped her. He silently berated himself but couldn't resist any longer. He needed her.

"Christine," he rasped, as he held her hand in his and tenderly lifted it to his mouth, taking both her fingers between his wanting lips.

Christine let out a small gasp as he began licking her dew between his tongue and lips, gently biting her knuckles while doing so, consuming the sweetness of her. It was invigorating.

_God, I need to be inside you, my sweet angel. How I have missed you._

Christine subconsciously licked her lips as she keenly watched his ministrations upon her delicate hand then closed her eyes, her body still trembling with pleasure that she'd brought to herself, and now with the small bliss he was bringing her.

Erik reluctantly released her hand from his mouth after some time, tenderly kissing the palm of her hand, then letting it go completely. Yet Erik kept his eyes upon Christine's, as if he could see her very soul through them.

"Are you all right?" He asked after a long moment of silence, their eyes still upon another, Christine's breathing becoming steady once more as the exhilarated pleasure she'd brought upon her body and soul slowly subsided.

"I think so," she said uncertainly. Then after a moment, "yes," she said with vague conviction. "I want to go inside." She said politely.

Erik nodded then stepped to the side, allowing her to go. She stared at him for a moment then began to leave, still a bit shaky. Yet it was because of the touch of her hand, the newfound trust of her body, the pleasure she'd brought to _herself_, and not because of her uncertainness that Erik had been horrified of only moments before. It healed him.

Erik stood still for a moment, afraid to turn and watch her go. He feared every moment of their partings, even if they were brief. They dauntingly reminded him of the night she'd left him all those years ago, after returning his ring, after his desperate confession of his eternal love for her. He feared he'd never overcome the dread of possibly never seeing her again, of her suddenly waking one day and realizing she made the mistake of returning to him. He hated himself for those thoughts, thoughts he would never express to Christine, but thoughts that haunted him nonetheless, especially now.

On sudden impulse Erik turned to watch his darling angel, not wanting her to go, to leave him alone. She hadn't left the gazebo completely. She stood upon the threshold of it and the steps, about to descend.

"Christine." He softly called out to her.

Christine stopped and turned to him imploringly.

She looked beautiful. Her cheeks were flushed from her lovemaking, her curls wild about her face, her lips moist, her breasts slowly moving with every breath she took. Erik suddenly felt incredibly weak. She was his weakness, his everything.

Erik drew in a deep breath and very slowly walked toward her, wanting to give her the chance to flee. She didn't.

He tenderly grasped her face between his hands and bent his head toward hers, kissing her very gently, deeply and slowly. He felt Christine hesitate for a moment then relax beneath him as she gradually lifted her arms and laid her hands upon his arms. She sighed as he smoothed his tongue against her moist lips, silently asking for her to open herself to him. Erik groaned deep in his throat as she complied, allowing his tongue to invade her sweet mouth. It was divine.

Erik softly caressed her face then laid his hands in her lush curls, lovingly weaving his fingers through them as Christine slid her hands down his arms, upon his chest and around his back. She pressed him closer against her as she slowly melted into his arms, their tongues colliding with need and desperation.

After a long moment of their romantic endeavor, of rediscovering their longing souls, Erik gently bit Christine's bottom lip, reluctantly ending their kiss, not wanting to press her further, knowing that complete intimacy between them once more would take longer than he'd desire. But he would wait for her, no matter how long, he would wait.

Erik leaned his forehead against Christine's as she removed her hands from his back, dropping them by her sides. Both were breathing heavily, both their bodies flushed with heat and desire.

Erik continued tenderly caressing her hair then reached his hands down, lacing them with hers.

"Do you want to go inside now?" Erik gently asked.

Christine nodded.

Erik kissed her forehead, then led her down the steps of the gazebo, and, hand in hand, walked into the cottage together.

They walked up to her bedroom, Erik stopping outside the room once there, not wishing to upset Christine by attempting to stay.

Christine began to walk into the room then stopped and turned to face him.

"Good night, Christine," Erik said, his voice wavering.

"Stay," she murmured.

Erik raised his brows at this, utterly shocked, but simply nodded.

_Thank God!_

She gripped his hand and walked him into the bedroom, shutting the door behind them. They then walked to the bed together, and, heir hands still entwined, slowly sat down next to another.

Erik's heart was racing and he suddenly wondered if Christine's were, too.

She turned to him completely then.

"Hold me, Erik. I need you. Please."

Tears filled Erik's eyes at her pleading statement. He laid his hand upon her cheek as she simultaneously leaned into it and kissed it briefly. He then lay down on the bed, taking a now weeping Christine with him, his mask lying forgotten beside them.

"Thank you." She whispered, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, clinging to him. Erik said nothing, though hope and release swept through him, as he held Christine closer to him.

They held another fiercely then, as if their bodies couldn't survive without the other. Christine buried her face in his chest as Erik held her nearer, neither daring to let the other go as they both fell asleep in another's arms, their souls becoming one once more, their hearts starting to heal.


	33. Morning Light

**Author's Note: Hello readers! Sorry for the delay in updating. It'd taken longer than expected :[ But thank you so much for hanging in there and continuing to read this story! It means a lot! Enjoy! Read and review, please :]**

_**Chapter Thirty-Two: Morning Light **_

Christine smiled tremulously as she looked upon her sleeping haven. He seemed very peaceful, his breathing steady, his hand unknowingly interlaced with hers. Christine sighed as she felt a soothing peace sweep through her after a long month of agonizing sorrow.

She knew it would still take some time for her and Erik to become the soulful lovers they'd been before the tragedy that had cursed them in May had erupted. But after last night she found herself utterly compelled by him and his soft touch and powerful body and beautiful words that told her all would be well in time. Before she felt nothing but shame and guilt, felt they'd never know another again, never become one again. But now she felt everything, her soul sang within her and it was all because of the man that lay beside her, his body an everlasting paradise.

She lightly laid her free hand upon his chest, caressing it tenderly then laid her hand upon his cheek. She leaned toward him, her lips brushing his ear.

"I love you," she whispered.

She froze as she saw Erik slowly begin to smile. She thought he was asleep!

"Mmm," he hummed. "That's very good."

His eyes suddenly opened, their amber gaze upon her face causing her to blush. He was glowing. It warmed her aching heart.

"Oh!" She exclaimed sheepishly, pulling her hand away, unwittingly embarrassed. "You're awake."

"I am," Erik simply responded, laying his hand upon her cheek now.

They fell into a mesmerizing silence as they stared fixedly at another, Erik caressing her cheek with his thumb, Christine tentatively resting her hand upon his chest again, their other hands still entwined. Erik gently squeezed her hand entwined with his then laid his other hand upon hers on his chest.

"I love you, too," he said very softly but with such fierceness and truth and desire it brought tears to Christine's eyes.

Erik pulled his hands away from hers, gently grasping her face between them. He pulled her face toward his, brushing his lips with hers in such tender reflection of last night's endearing kiss that Christine felt her body begin to quiver, as if she'd been reborn.

Erik weaved his hands within her wild curls after a moment as Christine simultaneously wrapped her arms about his shoulders, her body lying partly atop him now.

He held her closer causing Christine to softly gasp as she felt the evidence of his desire, slightly frightening her.

She reluctantly pulled away from him, breaking the kiss. She looked away from him, ashamed.

"I'm sorry."

Erik merely smiled, brushing her hair behind her ears.

"It's all right, angel. I understand." He gripped her chin, urging her to look into his eyes. "I don't think either of us is truly ready. Not here. Not now."

She nodded, biting her bottom lip, and looked down, avoiding his keen gaze.

"I suppose not."

Erik squeezed her chin causing her to look at him once more.

"I will always desire you, Christine. Else I wouldn't be here with you, now, or ever. I'm yours. Always," he vowed.

Christine's eyes widened at his devoted words. She kissed him briefly, hope and bliss filling her heart.

"I know, Erik. And I'm yours." She declared fervently as she pulled away from him to look down into his suddenly impassioned eyes. "Always," she vowed, too.

He leaned toward her and kissed her bottom lip, his tongue smoothing against it for a moment before he pulled away from her, resting his head upon the pillow. He wound his arms around Christine's waist, bringing her with him, her head lying in the crook of his neck, her hand resting on his muscled stomach.

"What you did last night," Christine began after some time of silence. She swallowed hard. "It meant everything, Erik."

Erik began rubbing her back. He kissed the top of her head then laid his own upon hers.

"You're welcome, Christine."

They fell into a serene silence as Erik continued to rub her back. Christine let out a soft sigh of content.

She felt Erik open his mouth to speak when there was a small knock at the door.

Christine jerked her head up, startled by the unexpected interruption.

"Y-yes," she asked anxiously.

"Mademoiselle Christine," Olivie's voice came from the other side of the door.

Christine relaxed upon hearing her voice. She truly didn't wish to speak with Madame Giry or Meg at the moment, though she felt immense guilt by it.

"Yes, Olivie," she inquired.

"Madame Giry wished for me to inform you that breakfast shall be ready within the hour and that she hopes you and…," she hesitated as her voice trailed off then cleared her throat after a moment, "…and Monsieur Erik would be much obliged to join her and Mademoiselle Meg in the dining room."

Erik softly chuckled causing Christine to grin. She sat up and laid a hand in his hair, lacing her fingers through it.

"Of course, Olivie, we would be most obliged. Please inform Madame Giry that we shall attend her and Mademoiselle Meg for breakfast." Christine answered sweetly as she continued weaving her hands through Erik's soft, dark hair. "Thank you."

"Of course, mademoiselle," Olivie replied, soon followed by the sound of her small footsteps as she walked down the hall and then down the stairs.

Christine giggled and looked down upon Erik as he suddenly kissed her wrist.

"It sounds wonderful to hear your laugh again." Erik said, his face beaming. "To see you smile. It heals me."

Christine smiled in return then leaned over him and kissed his forehead.

"You too, my darling love," she murmured.

Erik breathed deeply, his eyes eclipsed with tears. He hastily blinked them away and looked out the window.

"It's a beautiful morning," he observed, his voice hoarse.

Christine looked over her shoulder at his words.

"It is," she agreed. She turned to him abruptly. "Walk with me. You must know how peaceful the Girys' gardens are."

Erik sat up once more and leaned toward her. He kissed her throat, pleasantly surprising her.

"I do." He said as he pulled away from her, staring into her hopeful eyes, her very soul. "It sounds lovely, Christine."

*******

Meg sighed. She wiped her wet cheeks as she watched Erik and Christine walking together, their hands intertwined, in the blossoming garden, the innumerable flowers and morning light giving off an aura of such romantic passion that Meg had found herself innocently crying because of it.

They'd been out there for some time now, strolling throughout the labyrinth of magnificent nature, Erik staring down intently, devotion evident in his amber eyes, at an animated Christine as she spoke, such bliss upon her face that Meg couldn't help but smile, secretly enjoying in their moments together. They were visibly speaking of everything and nothing. No one would have ever known the sorrow the two had suffered this last month from the amorous picture alone before her. It was simply divine.

"They are quite a beautiful pair."

Meg turned hastily to see her mother standing within the doorway of the sitting room, looking out the window from behind her.

"You startled me, Mama," Meg said breathlessly, her hand upon her rising chest.

Berenice smiled.

"Forgive me, sweetheart."

Meg nodded, turning to face Erik and Christine once more.

"Yes," she said after a moment, agreeing with her mother. "They are very beautiful. It's quite frightening and yet utterly compelling."

Meg tensed as she felt Berenice's delicate hands upon her shoulders.

"Are you all right, dear?" Her mother carefully asked.

Meg let out a long sigh.

"Oh," she breathed. "I really don't know, Mama," she struggled. "Well, yes, I'm fine, truly." She lied.

Meg absolutely didn't wish to delve into a conversation with her mother that they'd had hundreds of times. Erik was no longer hers, he was never hers to begin with, and she was tired of hearing it.

Berenice squeezed her shoulders then stood beside her.

"He loves her very much."

"I know that." Meg said rather curtly. "You needn't remind me."

Berenice stared down fixedly at her for a moment then looked out the window once more, her hands entwined behind her back now.

"Meg—"

"Mama, please," Meg began, fixing her gaze upon her mother now, exasperated. "I know what you're thinking and you're wrong. I'm fine, really." She paused, looking out the window again as she saw Erik grasp Christine's face between his strong hands and kiss her with such tenderness it melted her heart. "It's just," she continued very quietly, "he never looked at me that way, with his heart and soul in his eyes. Never," she distractedly shook her head, "not once."

Berenice grasped Meg's hand.

"You will love again someday, Meg. I promise you. You are a lovely young woman."

"What if I can't love again, Mama? What if Erik is truly _my_ soul mate, though I'm not his? Seeing him again, it has opened up my heart once more. I miss him." She cried, totally defeated and upset with herself for succumbing to her mother's penetrating stare and wholesome words. She'd never been able to deceive her.

"Oh, Meg," Berenice soothed, taking her in her arms, "you will love again. You will find a man who loves you with such passion, such devotion, that you will find yourself purged of Erik forever."

"I don't wish to forget him completely."

"Well, no, of course not," Berenice stammered. "That isn't what I meant, dear."

She pulled away from Meg, looking down at her kindheartedly, brushing her hair with her hand.

"I know you loved Erik very much. But your feelings for him are nothing compared to requited love once you discover it. Once you have your eternal love returned, Meg—" Berenice blinked back tears, choking upon her words now. Meg knew she was thinking of Papa. "You will feel everything. Not just fear of losing his love or having your love unreturned, but everything. And it is the most wonderful yet terrifying feeling in the world."

Meg wiped her mother's face, tears streaming down it now.

"I was in constant fear of losing, Erik," Meg miserably confessed. "But I felt everything with him, too."

Berenice shook her head, sighing deeply.

"Oh, my lovely Meg," Berenice whispered. "My sweet child—"

"No, Mama," Meg said softly, pulling away from her. "I don't wish to do this. I know you're right and it frightens me. But I can't do this any longer. Once he and Christine leave I'll be fine. I promise." She looked out the window at the magnificent couple once more. "They are just so _beautiful._"

"And you deserve the same beauty, Meg." She grasped Meg's face between her hands, forcing her to look into her dark eyes. "You will love again." She kissed Meg on the forehead and squeezed her shoulders, "Now, how about some breakfast?" She suddenly asked. It was her obvious endeavor of dismissing the subject completely. And it always worked.

Meg tremulous smiled and nodded as Berenice took her hand and led them out of the sitting room, both deceiving their selves into believing that everything would be all right once Erik and Christine were gone.

*******

Berenice blinked back her newly unshed tears as she and Meg sat down at the dining table beside another, both patiently waiting for Olivie to return with Erik and Christine from the gardens for breakfast.

It'd broken her heart to watch Meg staring sadly out the window and observing seemingly blissful moments between Christine and Erik. She knew it pained Meg to have Erik here, especially with Christine. She'd never believed Meg had ever truly gotten over Erik but she hadn't believed his being here would have such a powerful effect on her either.

Once she and Meg had discovered Erik's marriage to that wicked woman Geneviève, and the shocking circumstances as how it'd come about, Meg had been furious and disgusted, yet understanding and sympathetic. Yet Berenice had truly believed that that occurrence had been the defining moment for Meg to realize that Erik would never return to her, that they'd never truly be together. That they would never marry.

But it obviously hadn't been enough to discourage her from always longing for Erik and it saddened Berenice to such an extreme that she'd fallen asleep many a nights with tears staining her pillow. She hadn't known such desperate feelings since she'd lost her Sébastien all those years ago. She couldn't stand it. Watching first her husband wither away and now Meg, though only emotionally. She truly couldn't handle it. But Meg needed her and so Berenice hid her true feelings behind her stoic and deceiving demeanor. She didn't wish for neither Meg nor Christine and Erik, especially now, to see the hardships she was going through as all four of their lives had dramatically changed over the years.

_Over the last month alone,_ she despairingly thought, inattentively shaking her head.

"Berenice," a powerful, masculine voice spoke by her side. "Berenice," he repeated again when she hadn't responded, deep concern in his commanding voice.

She trembled as she finally came to, Erik's touch upon her hand returning her to her senses. He and Christine had apparently entered the dining room while she'd fallen into her desolate thoughts.

She looked up into Erik's worried eyes.

"Are you all right," he softly asked.

"I—" she began dazedly. "I'm fine." She said after a moment as she noticed Christine standing by her other side, Meg standing now beside them, too.

She patted Erik's hand then looked reassuringly at Christine and Meg.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Please, sit. We shall eat."

The three stared at her for some time then slowly sat at the table, Meg to her right, Erik and Christine across from them.

She stared at the glorious couple for a few moments. In her heart of hearts she knew it'd be best for them to leave as soon as possible, yet she absolutely didn't wish for them to go and knew Meg felt the same. Perhaps another week or two would be a sufficient amount of time before they would embark for their new life and all would be well.

Berenice cleared her throat as she silently bade herself to believe that little lie she'd told herself and nodded her head, signaling them all that breakfast was officially served, myriad of hands and arms reaching throughout the table for the simple yet delicious food.

"This looks lovely," Christine spoke as she prepared her plate. "Thank you, Madame Giry."

"Oh, thank you, sweetheart. I haven't cooked for anyone but Meg and I for quite some time. It felt wonderful to cook for company."

"It is wonderful," Erik said once he finished eating a small slice of ham. He reached his hand out and laid it upon hers. "Thank you, Berenice."

Berenice warmly smiled at his intense eyes then tenderly squeezed his hand as he pulled it away.

"You're welcome."

The four carried on for some time, talking of simple nothings while they ate, merely reveling in the joy of their company. It was Heaven.

Yet it all came crashing down within moments as the meal began to come to an end and Erik made an announcement that rattled the very core of her.

"Christine and I shall leave for Paris tonight." He said abruptly, causing Meg to drop a piece of toast as Berenice choked on her coffee. She lifted her serviette from her lap, politely dabbing her mouth.

"Pardon me?" Berenice inquired.

"Tonight," Meg asked incredulously, her eyes gaping at them.

"Yes, tonight," Erik confirmed after a moment.

Berenice noticed Christine draw in a long breath and look shamefully down at her plate, idly pushing her food about her plate with her fork.

"Well, then," Berenice briskly spoke as she laid her serviette upon the table, her eyes piercing into Erik's. "May I ask why?"

Erik cleared his throat then laid his hand upon Christine's, visibly comforting her as he explained to Berenice and Meg his reasons for his and Christine's sudden departure.

"We must return to Paris immediately so we can fetch Bernard and Capucine and be on our way. After all, the French government believes me to be on my way to America now. Though I'm obviously not, and I don't wish for them to suspect my clandestine escape from that damned ship."

"America? What ship?" Meg suddenly asked. She shook her head. "I don't understand."

"Once Erik had been released," Christine spoke now, "the gendarmes had allowed him to seek out Bernard, hoping to…find me first, as the Duc de Pomeroy had promised." Christine drew in a heavy, unsteady breath while Erik laid his hand upon her shoulder, her body trembling now, as he silently encouraged her to continue. "And once it'd been discovered I was no where to be found, they escorted him to sea, guarding his every move until they'd seen him securely aboard a ship meant to set sail for America."

"The gendarmes had never given me a chance to find Christine. Not really. Once I'd sought out Bernard's home, the gendarmes only saw a long lost lover, a lover scorned, who'd disappeared, never to return, when it was discovered Christine wasn't there. They'd never given me the chance to speak with Bernard to discover Christine's whereabouts. She was gone and they wouldn't give me the chance to find her!"

Erik was angry now, visibly upset by the unsettling memory. Christine laid her hand in his lap, calming him. He cleared his throat after a moment, keeping his temper in check.

"Once I was aboard the ship, the men didn't really care whatsoever for me. They cared for nothing other than their mission, whatever that may have been. No matter," he shook his head, dismissing the thought. "It made my chance to escape much less complicated." He looked fiercely at Christine now. "I wouldn't leave. Not without Christine. So I escaped before the ship set sail, and secretly returned to Paris, seeking out Christine once more, where I'd remained hidden with Bernard for a month, the gendarmes foolishly thinking I was truly gone."

He stopped then, all four of them silently noticing what both Christine and Erik hadn't said. That Erik hadn't discovered the truth behind his release until he'd met with Bernard for the second time, upon escaping the ship. That Christine had fled to the Girys' home after she'd given herself to the Duc de Pomeroy, too ashamed and miserable to face Erik upon his release. That he and Christine would possibly never see another again because of Christine's distraught belief that Erik would never want her again.

But Berenice couldn't believe what she was hearing. Why hadn't Erik told her this the night he'd returned to Christine, to her and Meg? How could Christine possibly know this when she'd wanted nothing to do with him just yesterday? Why were they shutting her and Meg out? They needed them just as they needed Erik and Christine! This was madness!

Suddenly furious, Berenice abruptly stood from the table, determined to verbally express her anger, her despair.

"Why didn't you tell me this when you returned the other night," she demanded. She then jerked her head toward Christine. "And how do you know all this? You refused to speak to Erik until just last night! You wanted nothing to do with him! For God's sake! You wouldn't even let him _touch_ you! How could you possibly know of his fate upon his release because of _your_ duplicity, your sudden wantonness, before me? Damn it! I never should have allowed you to seek out the Vicomte de Chagny, your_ former _husband, for that matter!" She bellowed.

Meg let out an appalled gasp at Berenice's words while Christine's eyes became immediately eclipsed by tears.

"Mama," Meg breathed, "how could you?"

Erik, outraged by her words, stood from the table, his menacing eyes boring into hers as he leaned against the table toward her, his powerful body frightening her for the first time in a long while, the last time being his abduction of Christine during the night of his debut opera, a night that had changed and devastated so many innocent lives.

"How dare you speak to her in such a manner, Berenice! Just last night you were threatening me not to hurt her. Now look at you," he spoke sternly, "you speak to her as if this is all her doing! As if she were some debauched whore! As if she wanted this," he roared. Christine flinched at his words. "Damn you! She saved my life! How dare you insult her honor! I cannot believe—"

"Erik, please," Christine softly pleaded, laying her hand on Erik's arm, amazingly calming him by her simple touch. "It's all right, truly."

Erik swallowed hard, briefly closed his eyes then nodded his head as he laid a hand upon Christine's. He sat once more.

"Forgive me. I don't know what has come over me."

He looked over at Christine, sadness enveloping him, as he noticed her now tearstained cheeks. He grasped her face between his hands, wiping her cheeks with his thumbs.

"Christine, my heart of heart," he whispered as he leaned over and kissed her softly.

Christine shook her head as he broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers.

"I'm all right, Erik," she murmured, laying her hands upon his, reassuring him.

Berenice rubbed her hand upon her forehead, completely ashamed of herself. Words could not describe the emotions that had taken over her mind within the last few moments, perhaps even within the last couple of days.

Tears filled her eyes as she witnessed the two former star-crossed lovers across from her. It was celestial, their love, their joined souls, their everlasting passion. Their forbidden love had once been beauty and sorrow combined. Now they had the chance to begin life anew. To truly be together and revel in the newfound peace that had been granted to them. And here she was, selfishly ruining it. She loathed herself.

She slowly exhaled.

"No," she said after a moment. "It is I who should apologize. God, I am so sorry, Christine. I am so very sorry." She sat once more, too, as Meg laid her hand upon her shoulder. She softly began to weep.

"Are you all right, Mama?"

She shook her head.

"I thought I would be. This is all happening so fast." She looked across the table at Erik and Christine.

"I had hoped you two would stay much longer. But it was selfish of me to believe it possible. I had known that part of the agreement with the French was for you to leave the country immediately…" Her voice trailed off as she shook her head. "I'm sorry. Forgive me. I should have realized that you'd leave upon your reunion with Christine." She reached her hand out, taking Erik's in hers. "Forgive me?" She quietly asked.

Erik tremulously smiled.

"Of course, Berenice, you know I do."

"Christine?"

Christine nodded her head, reaching her hand out to Berenice's.

"Yes, Madame Giry. All is forgiven. I know you didn't mean it."

"No, I did not. I love you very much, sweetheart. None of this is because of you. You are the reason Erik still lives. I'm sorry, child."

Christine simply smiled as she pulled her hand away and laid it in her lap.

"This is all very overwhelming, indeed." Meg chimed in as Berenice collected her frenzied mind once more.

"Yes," Christine breathed in agreement as Erik laid a soothing hand in her hair, lovingly caressing her brown curls.

"Where will you go?" Meg inquired after some time.

Erik exhaled as Christine stiffened.

"We aren't exactly sure." He said very slowly.

Berenice furrowed her brows.

"Then why return to Paris now? Certainly you'd not only be endangering your lives while there but Bernard's and Capucine's as well. Erik," Berenice spoke gently but fiercely. "This is madness. You know this."

"There is unfinished business awaiting me there, Berenice. And I wish to settle it before our departure." He sighed. "All I ask is that you trust me in this, Berenice. I would never endanger Christine. If I didn't think it was safe to return to Paris I wouldn't. But I know what I'm doing." He paused. "I need to do this."

"As do I," Christine murmured. "Please, Madame Giry, you must understand."

Berenice laid her elbow upon the table, dropping her chin in her hand. She wouldn't deny them anything, especially now.

"I suppose I cannot stop you, though I don't agree with this at all."

"Mama," Meg finally spoke, wrapping her arms about her shoulders, "I know you trust Erik with your life and with Christine's…with mine, too. But you have never trusted him with his own." Berenice flinched at Meg's direct but true words. "But you must, Mama. Please."

Berenice looked over at her sweet daughter, love and hope and fear within her dazzling blue eyes. She leaned over and kissed her cheek then stood from the table.

"All right," she miserably acquiesced. "But I shall travel with you to Paris."

Erik raised his brows at her bold statement.

"Berenice—"

"No," she firmly stopped him. "You will not fight me on this. I shall not know peace until I know you and Christine are safe. I want to see you to Bernard's." She stared steadily into Erik's eyes. "Agreed?"

Erik stared at her for a long moment, Christine, too. But she refused to yield on this. He was risking his and Christine's life by returning to Paris instead of departing the country entirely, for God's sake! Berenice surely wasn't going to sit by and allow him to return to Paris alone completely. She wanted to be there, to know he and Christine found Bernard safely. Then could she find some peace, though she knew she wouldn't ever rest again until she knew they'd reached their undecided destination.

"Good." She simply stated after a long silence between the four of them, not giving Erik a chance to either agree or object. "We shall leave at dusk. And dress in dark clothes."

She looked at Erik strictly.

"You should be good at that," she said tersely.

Erik lifted a brow and smirked, crossing his arms about his chest.

"As should you, Berenice."

Berenice withheld the urge to laugh as she saw Christine and Meg open their mouths in gawking disbelief upon hearing the unexpected jest between the two. Instead, she nodded briefly to her beloved friend, turned on her heel and left without another word in a swirl of skirts, her armor upon her once more. She could mourn later, for now they needed her, as did her darling daughter. She wouldn't fail them.

*******

"For the thousandth time, Meg," an exasperated Berenice stated, "you are not coming with us."

"Mama, please," her adamant daughter protested, "Erik and Christine mean everything to me, too. I wish to go, to say goodbye. Don't deny me this."

"You can say goodbye here, within the safety of our home."

"Mama—"

"Berenice," Erik calmly interrupted, standing beside Meg. "Let her come. She is Christine's dearest friend, just as I am yours." He walked to Berenice and took her hands in his. "I'm sure you understand how much this is hurting her. Let her come," he softly pleaded.

Berenice stared intently at Erik for a moment then looked over his shoulder at her darkly clad daughter and an even darker clad Christine beside her, a long cloak upon her, its hood settled comfortably upon her head. It reminded her so much of the night she'd hastily and terrifying ascended the stairs to the rooftop of the Paris Opera House, the Vicomte de Chagny on her heels, desperately escaping the man she'd now given her soul to. Yet that night she'd been wearing beautiful shades of blues instead of the darkness that enveloped her now. The eerie irony sent a rippling chill throughout Berenice's body. Once Christine had been escaping Erik's darkness, now she was escaping with him, pursuing the beauty of light together.

"All right, darling," Berenice finally conceded.

Meg jumped into her arms, fiercely embracing her.

"Thank you, Mama." She kissed her cheek. "I love you," she said quickly before turning and entering the prepared carriage that was bathed in moonlight, Christine right behind her.

Erik watched Berenice now, his dark cloak shrouding him in darkness, his white leather mask glowing in the moonlight.

"Please, Erik, have a care." Berenice began as she grasped his hood and laid it upon his head, standing on her toes as she did so. He was an incredibly tall man, a daunting man. "Your mask will give you away."

Erik shook his head, though amusement reflected in his amber eyes.

"You are the dearest woman I know, Berenice." He lifted her hands to his lips, kissing them briefly. "Thank you for all that you have done. For watching over Christine while I surrounded myself in a cloud of cowardly sorrows this last month."

"Oh, Erik, you are hardly the coward. I believe Christine has named you the hero in all this."

Tears burned Erik's eyes at Berenice's words. He turned over his shoulder, looking at Christine sitting with Meg in the opened carriage, both indulging in frenzied whispers.

He turned once more to Berenice after a long moment of solemn silence between them as he had fixated his attention upon his eternal love, his soul.

"She loves you, Erik," Berenice stated before he could say a word, his despairing thoughts written all over his face. "She won't leave you. She needs you more than you could ever know."

Erik laid his hand upon Berenice's cheek then offered her his arm, escorting her to the waiting carriage.

"Erik," Berenice stopped him before they entered, pulling him slightly away from a nervous Christine and Meg, her voice very serious now. "You must write to me immediately upon your decision of where you and Christine shall go."

"Of course, Berenice," Erik said matter-of-factly. "How could I not? I want nothing more than for you and Meg to visit as soon as we're settled, to know that we're safe."

Berenice shook her head.

"That isn't what I mean. Not completely."

Erik stared at her quizzically.

"I wish to send you your things. I plan to visit your estate now that matters have…settled." At least she hoped they'd settled now that the French believed Erik was gone. She only hoped they hadn't left his château in shambles.

"You don't need to do that, Berenice."

"What of your music?" She gravely asked.

Erik lifted his hand and laid it upon his heart.

"It's all in here, Berenice. You know this."

Tears filled Berenice's eyes. She shook her head.

"You are ever the enigmatic genius, my dear man. You shall never cease to amaze me."

"Thank you," he said charmingly then turned on his heel to enter the carriage.

"Oh!" Berenice began, laying her hand upon his arm and stopping him once more.

"Yes?" He inquired, turning to face her.

"Well, there is the problem of money, Erik. I still control much of your assets."

Erik smiled.

"Yes, I know. And I will always be grateful to you for that, Berenice." He stated. "Bernard has a significant amount of it, too."

"I don't understand—"

Erik clasped his hands over Berenice's.

"Keep it, Berenice."

"Erik, no, I couldn't!"

Erik shook his head, defying her.

"I'm afraid you don't have a say in the matter. Christine and I will be fine. She will want for nothing. I shall receive what is needed from Bernard, and then Christine and I will be on our way with him and Capucine."

"Once this supposed 'unfinished business' has been settled." She said sardonically.

Erik chuckled as he laid her arm in the crook of his elbow.

"Exactly," he said simply as he walked them to the carriage once more and politely helped her inside, firmly shutting the door behind him once settled within, Christine by his side.

*******

Erik relaxed as Christine weaved her hand with his. He slowly exhaled and turned to his beautiful angel. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

"Trust me, Christine."

"I trust you." She said, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her head on his chest.

They'd arrived in Paris a few moments ago and now stood outside Bernard's home, the dark night's shadow hiding them safely from potential wandering eyes, Berenice and Meg standing a short distance away, keenly observing Bernard's home.

Emotions were stirring within Erik's mind and body that he couldn't understand and it discomforted him. Christine's love, parting from the Girys, leaving France, it was finally getting the best of him. He was ecstatic to start life anew with Christine, a new life in a new country. Yet it pained him to have to leave Berenice and Meg.

Erik shook his head, pushing his thoughts aside and kissed the top of Christine's head then grasped her hand and led her to Berenice and Meg.

"Come," he stated as he led them to a side alley, not wishing to take any chances of being discovered. He'd sent Berenice's loyal footman away with the carriage, asking him to return in ten minutes' time, deeming that ample enough time to say…goodbye.

Erik's stomach clenched while he simultaneously bit back tears. He thrust his hands in his pockets, though no one could tell considering his cloak surrounded his body, covering him completely.

"Christine," Berenice spoke first, taking his divine love in her arms, "I love you so very much, my sweet child." She grasped Christine's face between her hands and kissed her forehead. "You have always been another daughter to me. I'm here always." Erik's heart broke as Christine and Berenice began to cry, Meg wrapping her arms around them both now. "My goodness," Berenice breathed, "I promised myself I wouldn't cry and now look at me." Christine and Meg laughed uneasily at her words.

"I love you, too, Madame Giry," Christine cried as she slightly pulled away and looked deeply into Berenice's eyes. "Thank you for all that you have done for me. For everything," Christine declared, squeezing Berenice's hands. "You must promise to visit Erik and I…wherever that may be."

"Of course, my dear," Berenice promised.

Berenice kissed Christine on both cheeks, squeezed her shoulders then walked away, allowing Meg and Christine to say goodbye now. Erik stood beside Berenice and furtively took her hand in his, giving comfort. She gently squeezed it and laid her head on his shoulder.

"Oh, Christine," Meg wept as they grabbed another's hands. "I will miss you so much. You are my dearest friend."

Christine tremulously smiled.

"This isn't goodbye, Meg. We will see another again," Christine vowed, her voice trembling though Erik could see she was desperately trying to hold onto her emotions, to stay sanguine. "I will miss you, too," she whispered.

Meg leaned into Christine, clearly wishing to say something to her in private.

"Take care of him," Erik heard Meg whisper in Christine's ear, his hearing beyond impeccable, though he obliged himself as ignorant, not wishing to embarrassing Meg or Christine.

"I will," Christine declared, looking fixedly into Meg's eyes as she pulled away. "You know I will." Christine briefly looked over at Erik. "I love him more than my own life," she said to Meg, though her eyes were upon him.

Erik swallowed hard, tears streaming down his face now. He drew in a deep breath and walked over to a crying Meg and Christine as they embraced another and said their final farewell.

"Meg," he murmured.

Meg hastily wiped the tears from her face and looked at him. Erik gently grasped her face between his hands and kissed her forehead.

"You're a special woman, Meg Giry. Don't ever forget this." He kissed her cheeks and smiled at her. She smiled in return. "I do love you, _mon amie_."

Meg softly giggled, laying her hand upon his unmasked cheek.

"I know," she said simply then stepped away as Berenice approached him.

"Berenice," Erik nodded as she stood in front of him.

She smiled.

"Erik, my dearest friend," she softly chuckled, I must admit, I shall miss you."

Erik laughed and took Berenice in his arms.

"I shall miss you, too, Berenice. I will think of you every day."

Berenice held him closer then pulled away from him to look into his eyes.

"She needs you, Erik." Berenice declared, taking his face in her hands. "Remember that."

"I will," he said firmly.

Berenice shook her head.

"This is only the beginning, Erik. Just promise me that you will always remember she loves you. Promise me," she pleaded through clenched teeth.

"I promise," Erik obliged.

Berenice nodded.

"Thank you."

"Say it, Berenice." Erik said calmly after a moment.

Berenice's eyes widened, her eyes filled with amusement.

"I will not," she refused.

Erik smiled and laid his hand upon her cheek. He kissed her briefly on the lips.

"Then I will," he murmured. "I love you, Berenice."

Berenice began to cry.

"Damn you, Erik," she wept, as he took her in his arms, "I knew you'd make me cry."

Erik softly chuckled as he held Berenice closely, not quite ready to let her go.

"Well, then," she breathed after a moment as she pulled away from him and took Meg's hand, walking them to the carriage.

Christine walked over beside Erik. He held his hand out to hers. She gently grasped it the wrapped her free arm around his waist.

The Girys and Erik and Christine stood for some time in complete silence, the four of them never taking their eyes off another. Then Berenice briefly smiled and nodded as she ascended the steps of the carriage, Meg close behind.

Erik and Christine walked to the carriage, shutting the door behind them and breathed a final goodbye.

They were gone.

Christine turned and fell into Erik's arms and wept, causing Erik to cry as well. He held her closely, her sobs paining him.

"Shh, my love," he soothed as he rubbed her back. "We shall see them again."

"I know," she wept. "But they are my family. I don't wish to leave them."

Erik sighed as she pulled away from Christine and grasped her face in his hands. He kissed her.

"I'm your family, too, Christine."

Christine tremulously smiled.

"Yes, you are."

Erik kissed her again, though longer and deeper this time. Christine sighed after a moment as pulled away, gently biting her bottom lip as he did.

"Come," he said, entwining her hands with his and leading her down the dark alley. "There is somewhere I wish for us to go before we return to Bernard and Capucine."

Christine stopped in her tracks, stopping Erik too.

"What? Where," she asked incredulously.

Erik shrugged his shoulders.

"It's a secret."

Christine furrowed her brow.

"You and I don't have that spectacular of a history when it comes to secrets."

Erik found himself laughing aloud.

"No, I suppose not. But I do know that I have your complete trust now."

Christine grinned, her teeth sparkling in the dark night.

"Well, you certainly have me there."

Erik wrapped his arms about her waist and bent his lips to her ear.

"And I can certainly have you anywhere." Erik wickedly whispered as he licked her ear. He felt Christine tremble.

"Yes," she whispered breathlessly. "You can." She pulled away from him slightly, looking intently into his eyes. "We will be all right, won't we?"

Erik softly smiled and kissed her brow.

"Yes, Christine, we will." He promised as he entwined their hands once more and led them stealthily down the alley.

*******

"Erik, wherever are we going? I hardly recognize anything in the darkness!" Christine asked after walking within the city for quite some time. "It's almost dawn. We traveled all night from the Girys'. I'm exhausted!"

"Hush, angel. Trust me. Once there we shall sleep the morning away." He obliged her as they turned the corner, finally reaching their destination.

"I'm beginning to—oh!" She gasped as she looked upon what they'd come to find. "Oh, Erik, I-I don't know," her voice wavered.

Erik gently pushed them aside, hiding within the shadows of the still abandoned Paris Opera House. He hadn't wished to ever come back, to ever bring Christine back for that matter. But it seemed right. This place had been his home and brought him so much to his miserable life. It had brought him despair and joy, solitude and companionship, imprisonment and freedom, love and hate, Heaven and Hell.

It had brought him Christine.

"Erik, I don't think I can do this." Christine despaired, breaking into his thoughts. She began to walk away.

"Please, Christine. You must." Erik pleaded, grasping her shoulder and stopping her. She turned to him, her arms crossed definitely about her chest. "I want to make peace with this place. A place I called home for twenty years, a place that brought me you. Please, Christine. I want to say goodbye...with you."

Christine stared at him intently for some time then took his hand in hers and nodded.

_Oh, my sweet angel!_

"Perhaps I should make peace with it, too." She said very softly then kissed him briefly. "Let's go."


	34. L’Opéra de Paris

_**Chapter Thirty-Three: L'Opéra de Paris**_

"Do you think this is safe?" Christine unsteadily asked as she clung to Erik's arm while he lit a candlestick he'd hidden within the confines of the Paris Opera House years ago.

"Yes," Erik said simply. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have brought you here. Are you all right?" He asked as the candle, successfully lit now, illuminated a slightly frightened Christine.

"Yes," she said hastily. "I'm fine."

Erik stared at her sardonically.

"Here, hold this."

He handed the candlestick to a shaky Christine then lifted her hood from her head. He framed her face in his hands and lightly kissed her as she held the candlestick away from their bodies.

"Christine? Are you sure you want to do this?"

She stared at him for a moment then nodded.

"I'm here. There's no going back now." She kissed him deeply. "I want to do this."

Erik caressed her cheek then took the candlestick from her as he held his free arm out. She gently looped her arm through his, linked their hands and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

"I'll be all right," she whispered as Erik led them down through the labyrinth of halls in the Opera House. "I'm sure you understand why I'm a little on edge," she sweetly added. "You must remember the first time I'd journeyed with you through a shadowed labyrinth in this place with no inkling as to where I was."

Erik stiffened.

"I hadn't forgotten."

Though he knew her words were meant to be in jest they still hurt Erik. He certainly hadn't forgotten the first or the last time he'd taken her through the depths of the Opera House. The first time they'd ventured together throughout the catacombs of the Opera House had been consumed with mystery, power and seduction, while the last time was consumed by rage, terror and hate.

No, he hadn't forgotten, and he certainly never would.

Erik groaned softly then squeezed Christine's hand and said nothing more. He led them down through the halls until he'd found what he'd first wanted to show her: the grand staircase.

The very staircase within the very foyer where Erik had revealed himself for the first time in the flesh, as the infamous Phantom of the Opera dressed as Red Death, to the Parisian company in the midst of their celebration of the New Year.

"Don't move," he murmured as he lifted Christine's hand to his lips and kissed it briefly before he left her standing alone while he sought out myriad of candelabrum he knew existed within the vast foyer.

Erik's impeccable vision in the darkness, along with the already lit candlestick in his hand, allowed him to quickly discover the countless candelabrum that were scattered throughout the foyer, lighting each one deftly, including those that surrounded the grand staircase and the two above it, allowing his hands to have complete freedom now.

Once finished, Erik descended the grand staircase and stood beside a now wide-eyed Christine. She turned to him for a moment, tears in her eyes, and kissed his cheek before she began exploring the vast entrance to the musical sanctuary she'd called home for so many years.

Erik watched Christine closely as she walked about the candlelit foyer, now staring aimlessly at the grand staircase that commanded her attention. She stood in front of the staircase for some time, her back to him. Erik held his breath as he keenly observed her, knowing she was thinking of the night he'd revealed himself to the company of the Opera House. He was a menacing and threatening character that night, who wanted nothing more than to seek revenge upon those that had defied him. He was a man who'd wanted to claim what he believed to be rightfully his in front of all those who were frightened by him, in front of her betrothed, the man who'd taken the woman who belonged only to him.

"You frightened me that night," Christine admitted very softly, intruding upon his thoughts.

Erik sheepishly thrust his hands in pockets and looked down at the floor. They'd promised complete honesty between another, vowed to another that only truth would exist between them, no matter the hurt and sadness that would possibly entangle with it, no matter how terrifying the truth would be.

Keeping his promise to Christine in mind, Erik slowly exhaled and took a step toward his innocent beauty.

"I meant to, you know. I'm ashamed to admit it, Christine. But I—" Erik sighed, rubbing his hands upon his face. "I was so angry with you."

She turned toward him, her face an expression of regret and sorrow, her hands wrapped about her body, her cloak enveloping her. She stared at him for a long while, visibly recollecting the night of _le bal masqué._

"Because of my secret engagement to Raoul," she said very slowly. She shook her head and began pacing the foyer. "An engagement I wanted to remain secret because of you, because I didn't wish for you to know that I had promised myself to another."

She stopped mid stride after some time and looked sharply into his eyes.

"I couldn't understand then," she began explaining, "what I had done to upset you. But when you ripped Raoul's engagement ring from the chain around my neck I realized you knew, and I couldn't understand how you had known before I saw you again on this staircase, clad in threatening shades of red and a skull mask upon your face, that I had given Raoul my heart. You had abandoned me for six long months and I couldn't fathom why. I had been terrified that you discovered my engagement to Raoul. But I couldn't believe it possible. I thought you had left the Opera House completely!" She paused. "It wasn't until the night of your opera when you sang Raoul's love words to me, making them your own, that I'd realized you'd been on the roof with Raoul and me that night, that you'd known everything of our love and devotion to another, of Raoul's proposal, since that very night. Yet those words that you'd made your own on the stage the night of your opera helped me to remember once more the kindred spirits we had always been."

Erik swallowed hard.

"Yes. We were both alone," he proclaimed, tears misting his eyes.

Christine idly nodded as her eyes fell to the floor.

"Yes," she said, "until Raoul came back into my life."

"Yes," Erik breathed as he turned away from Christine and began ascending the staircase. "And then you didn't need me any longer."

"That is not true," Christine unexpectedly declared, causing Erik to stop dead in his tracks and hastily turn toward her.

"Christine—"

"I hated you for leaving me, Erik. It hurt me." She marched up the staircase toward him. "I hadn't any idea why you left me after the night of _Il Muto_ and it saddened me very deeply!"

"I killed a man that night, Christine! For God's sake, I certainly thought you hadn't wanted anything to do with me after that," he said through clenched teeth, "especially after you fell into the arms of the Vicomte and confided to him of your terror of me—"

"I was frightened, Erik!" She scoffed, throwing her hands up in the air as she walked past him further up the staircase. She abruptly turned on her heel to face him once more. "I should have known that you would have followed me to the roof."

"Perhaps you should have," he said dryly as he turned away from her.

"No!" She demanded as she grabbed his shoulder and turned him to face her. "You obviously hadn't listened to my entire confession that night, Erik! You only heard what you'd wished to hear!"

"What are you talking about?"

"What I said about your voice, your music! I have told you a thousand times how your voice and music touched my soul that night in your lair. How you hadn't only frightened me but showed me passion and devotion, Erik. I loved you and I hated you."

"Yes, you've made that abundantly clear."

Tears began pouring down her face causing Erik to feel the coward once more for his harsh words. They were obviously the cause of her pain and it killed him. Yet he couldn't help himself. It was the only defense mechanism he had, pushing her away, hiding his pain by exploiting hers. His menace was all he'd ever known until his time with the Girys, and then when Christine came back into his life in the spring.

"You left me when I needed you. You left me, Erik!" She suddenly shouted as she turned away from him and began running up the staircase.

Anger burning within him, Erik quickly followed, grasping her wrist as she reached the top of the staircase.

"Now wait just a minute," Erik bellowed, hastily turning her to face him, causing her to lose her balance and fall into his arms. She tried to pull away but Erik held her closer.

"Perhaps I had heard all of what you'd said that night! I saw the look in your eyes when you spoke of my voice and music. You were mesmerized, utterly compelled! Your eyes sparkled as you remembered my passion, my music, which I'd so freely shared with you." He began to cry and slightly shook her. "But, Christine, I also saw the horror and pity in your eyes as you told the Vicomte of my face! Of my distorted and deformed flesh, of my ugliness, which had frightened you so incredibly much. I certainly haven't forgotten that, Christine." He shoved away from her. "And I don't think I ever will," he admitted very softly.

"Erik, I—"

"You thought I would _kill_ you, Christine!" He finally roared, unable to keep his deepest sorrow within himself any longer. "That is what truly hurt. That you thought I had the power in my heart, in my soul, to kill you. Damn you!"

She stared quizzically at him for a moment then slightly gasped as she evidently remembered her impassioned words from that night with the Vicomte.

"My God," she breathed. "I said that." She shook her head. "Oh, Erik, I'm so sorry—"

But Erik wouldn't hear it, didn't want to hear it. He marched away from her and up the second flight of stairs on the right. It was only a matter of moments until he heard her tiny footsteps pounding up the stairs behind him.

"Why are you turning away from me," she cried. "Erik," she exclaimed desperately as she ran in front of him and laid her hands upon his chest, stopping him. "You brought me here, you told me you wished to make peace with this place and now you're walking away from me." She grasped his face between her hands. "Talk to me. Please," she pleaded. "I want this, too. I want you to tell me everything that you have felt because of me in this Opera House. Everything, Erik," she passionately declared. "I don't wish for there to be any more secrets between us." She wrapped her arms about his body and laid her head upon his chest. "Tell me, Erik. Please."

Erik silently berated himself as he realized Christine was right. He was the one who'd brought her here, who wanted to put the past behind him and Christine by making peace with it. He hadn't wished to avoid it any longer and yet here he was doing just that. He was constantly frightened of losing her, of proclaiming the wrong words, of hurting her. Yet he knew it was inevitable. He just needed to remember that she loved him and that she wasn't going anywhere, no matter what was revealed between them. She was his just as he was hers. He needed to remember that.

Erik wrapped his arms tightly about Christine's body and laid his head upon hers as he suddenly realized what Berenice had meant about his remembering that Christine needed him, that she loved him. It was because of his doubt in himself that he hadn't really believed Christine would be his for always. But she was and he needed to remember that. He wasn't letting her go.

"I'm sorry, angel," he sighed after a moment as he began caressing her back.

"It's all right," he heard Christine's muffled voice against his chest. "I'm scared, too."

Erik cupped her cheek, lifting her face to look into his.

"You hurt me that night, Christine," he said very calmly as he wiped her tears away.

"I know, Erik. But I was so frightened. First you'd lashed out at me in your lair the very morning after you'd seduced me with your music, then you threatened the managers, Raoul, even Carlotta Giudicelli," she exclaimed.

"Come now," Erik smirked, hoping to make her smile, "you were secretly pleased with what I had done to Carlotta."

Christine slowly smiled.

"Perhaps only a little," she murmured. "She was an evil woman." She violently shook her head. "But that doesn't matter, Erik. You threatened them! I've never wished ill against another in that Opera House. Not ever!"

She spoke calmly but with such fierce passion in her voice Erik couldn't help but admire her strength, her courage.

"Then," she continued, "you threatened not only the company the night of _Il Muto_, but the Parisian audience as well! You killed Joseph Buquet! You crashed the chandelier! You had gone completely mad, Erik!"

She pulled away from him and leaned against the railing of the staircase, her back to him now.

"And it was all because of me," she fervently whispered. "I hated you because of that."

Erik ran his hands through his hair then furiously thrust his hands in his pockets.

"I understand," he said very quietly after a moment.

"Did you truly abandon me for those six months because of what you'd witnessed between Raoul and I on the roof that night?" She tremulously asked after a long moment of silence between them.

Erik groaned and walked toward her, laying his hands upon her shoulders and pressing her against him. She laid her head upon his chest and placed a hand upon his on her shoulder.

"Yes," he shamefully admitted. "I was completely distraught. In my mind you had betrayed me, had denied me. You couldn't have us both. It was either him or me." He kissed her temple. "I wanted to come to you again, Christine, but you were completely enthralled by the Vicomte. You spent every waking moment with him! So I threw myself into my music, my score. I desperately wanted to finish it, hoping it would compel you into loving me once you'd seen what I had written for you. My passion, my music, everything I had ever felt because of you was reflected in that score, in my greatest masterpiece." He groaned, "And I lost you because of it."

Christine shook her head and turned to face him.

"Oh, Erik," she soothed as he leaned his forehead against hers, "you hadn't lost me because of your opera." She uneasily laughed. "You couldn't be more wrong."

"Then tell me."

"W-what," she asked breathlessly.

"What had caused you to turn away from me? Was it truly because of my face or because of my threats to the managers, to the Vicomte? Was it because of Buquet? Was it one of those reasons or all of them? Tell me."

Erik was relentless. He wanted to know if he'd lost her that morning when her curiosity had led her to foolishly rip his mask from his face, causing him to berate her, to yell at her. Yet he hadn't truly believed it'd been because of that morning, for after he'd confessed his deepest fears to her, she'd shown him such compassion he'd finally fallen in love with Christine, the magnificent young woman, not just Christine, his divine Angel of Music. She'd returned his mask to him. She'd almost allowed him to kiss her, for God's sake! But he'd been the coward then too, grabbing her wrist and forcing himself to return her above, instead of keeping her down in his Hell with him for eternity, which had been what he'd truly desired. But he'd let her go then, too. And because of his returning her above, because of the compassion she'd shown through the returning of his mask, he'd always believed it had been because of his murdering Joseph Buquet that she'd turned away from him in the end. That she'd fallen into the arms of the Vicomte on the roof that night.

"Oh, Erik," she sighed as she looked away from him.

He tenderly gripped her shoulders.

"Tell me, Christine," he gently demanded again.

"I-I don't really know. You frightened me, and Raoul was there," she reluctantly admitted. "He was truth and light while you were…" Her voice stifled off.

"While I was deception and darkness," he finished for her, "while I was a murderer."

Christine bent her head, looking down at his chest.

"Y-yes," she said after some time.

Erik let out a long breath.

"I suppose I had known then, the truth behind your choosing the Vicomte over me. I was just too blinded by rage and my obsession of you to understand."

"Yes, I suppose."

Erik nodded and kissed her forehead.

"I never meant to abandon you, Christine. I truly thought you didn't need me anymore once you'd declared yourself to the Vicomte."

"I always needed you, Erik."

"I know that now."

Christine tremulously smiled and cupped his cheek. Erik bent his head toward hers and lightly brushed her lips, but Christine grasped his other cheek and kissed him deeper. Erik groaned as she slipped her tongue past his lips and seduced him with her intoxicating innocence.

Erik wrapped his arms firmly about her waist in response, pressing her against his now engorged flesh. Christine whimpered, wrapping her hands about his neck.

They continued loving another with their lips, their tongues, until Erik reluctantly pulled away from her, Christine biting his lip, erotically pleading with him not to stop, as he did so.

"Erik," she breathed, their chests heaving against another as they held another closely, neither wishing to let go. "Don't stop," she murmured.

"Hush, angel-love," he whispered, grasping her wrists wrapped around his neck and bringing them forth between them, kissing them briefly.

He slowly stepped away from her, grasping one of the candelabra he'd lit some moments before, and continued leading her through the Opera House, their hands entwined.

Erik heard Christine draw in a deep breath then slowly exhale as they approached the two closed doors that led to the entrance of the theater after some time of walking and exploring the Opera House in companionable silence.

"Are you still with me, Christine?" Erik asked as he laid his hand at the small of her back, lightly caressing her.

She was silent for some time then reached her hand out and jerked opened one of the doors, the door letting out an eerie sound as she opened it completely, due to years of being unused.

Erik grasped the door and held it for her as she gently took the candelabra from him and slowly entered the abandoned theater. He looked down at the floor for a moment, ran a hand through his hair, mentally preparing himself for all that was bound to come, and then followed his love within the darkness of the theater.

He stayed behind at a safe distance, wishing to allow her all the time she needed to collect her thoughts and emotions, to take in all that stood before her, to remember all that had been, the good and the bad.

The air was quite musky, dust filling the theater and covering the numerous seats, the floor and balconies, due to years of abandonment, of unfortunate neglect. Erik suddenly wished they had more light, desperately wanting to reacquaint himself completely with the very theater that had made his angel the star ingénue, a feat she'd deserved since the moment he'd first heard her sing.

"Christine," Erik called out to her as she walked down the aisle toward the stage, "I'll be just a moment," he said, wanting to return to the foyer and gather two more candelabrums, "I wish to—"

"No!" She suddenly exclaimed, setting the candelabra upon the floor and turning on her heel to march toward him. She grabbed his hand in hers then threw herself into his arms. She was trembling. "Don't leave me," she murmured, clinging to him now.

Erik swallowed hard, her words and gesture breaking his heart. He wrapped his arms tight about her body, soothing her with whispering nothings.

"Never," he fervently promised after a moment.

They stood there for some time, clinging to another, Erik rubbing her back and hair, Christine softly crying against him, his heart pounding now.

"Erik," Christine sobbed, "it feels as if nothing has changed. Yes, the theater, the foyer, everything, is disheveled and quite filthy. But," she sighed, "it feels as if nothing has changed." She pulled away from him and turned toward the stage once more. "Your set is still there."

Erik jerked his head toward the stage at her words. His eyes widened upon seeing what she meant.

"My God," he breathed.

Everything from the night of his opera was still upon the stage: the table, its tablecloth still upon it, the bench, the faux fruit and food, the lute, the set itself, was still on the stage, though much of it knocked upon the floor, most likely due to the chaos that had erupted that night because of his abduction of Christine.

The bench had been knocked over, the curtains that hid the bed from view had been ripped down, several pieces of the faux fruit and food had also been knocked to the ground. The lute was upon the floor, too, and had apparently been stepped on, it being smashed up a bit, while the backdrop had several holes torn through it. But it was all still there.

Erik's chest tightened, his heart in his throat now, as he recollected that night. Despite the despair and hatred and terror that had come with that night, he'd certainly never forgotten the passion that had come with it, too. Christine's eroticism and innocence combined within her voice and body, her seduction, her touch, everything, had been complete bliss that night during those few moments they'd shared on that stage together. Erik wouldn't dare trade their erotic duet for the world. It had never left his heart, his soul, and certainly hadn't left his dreams, his bed, his body.

"Erik," Christine whispered, "you're trembling."

Erik shook his head and looked down upon the only woman who possessed his soul. He grasped her face in his hands and kissed her very gently, though his flesh was throbbing. He wanted to lay her down upon the floor now and savagely take her. He wanted to possess _her._ He wanted everything from her, her soul opening to his, her legs wrapped firmly about his body as he thrust his flesh deep inside her, their bodies entwined an everlasting symbol of the eternal love and erotic passion that would forever consume their souls.

Erik abruptly ended the kiss and pulled away from her, running his hand through his hair. Christine furrowed her brows as she watched him intently, her lips wet from his kiss, her skin flushed.

"Are you quite well?" She finally asked.

Erik cleared his throat.

"Y-yes, I'm fine."

Christine slowly nodded, clearly not believing him at all. She reached her hand out to him, clasping it over his.

"Erik?"

"It's nothing. Come," he said, interlacing his hand with hers as he walked with her down the long aisle to retrieve the candelabra she left on the floor. "Do you want to go up there?" He asked after grasping their only source of light in his hand.

Christine looked over at the stage for a long moment then leaned over and kissed his white leather mask.

"Yes, I think I do."

"Me too," he said very gently.

She smiled at him then reached her free hand out to caress his hair. Erik held her endearing gaze for a long moment then kissed her brow and began leading her out of the theater, through another myriad of halls until they reached backstage.

They both stopped upon reaching the stage, gripping another's hands tightly as they stood backstage for a few moments longer, preparing themselves for the final threshold they were about to cross. The stage that stood before them held an abundant of memories, both wondrous and terror-filled. Those memories would inevitably flood their minds: the bliss of Christine's debut performance as Elissa in _Hannibal_, the terror that he'd brought upon the company and audience of _Il Muto_, and the night of his debut opera, _Don Juan Triumphant_, an opera meant to be his crowning achievement, an opera that was indeed his artistic masterpiece that would irrevocably bound him and his angel together for always. An opera he'd written for her voice, for his passion, for their love.

"Are you afraid?" He heard himself ask Christine after a moment.

"No," she said very surely, almost frightening him.

They walked onto the stage together, neither saying a word as they looked at another one last time then slowly parted, exploring the stage separately.

Erik immediately lit the several stage lamps that were erected upon the front of the stage, illuminating the murky stage completely as he did so.

"Mmm," Christine hummed. "That's much better."

Erik couldn't help but smile at Christine's gracious words. He set the candelabra down upon the stage now that they no longer needed it, the stage shining brightly, the candlelight glowing about Christine's lovely face.

Erik drew in a slow and steady breath as he watched Christine fixedly, her beauty and grace mesmerizing him. She was, truly, his innocent beauty, his eternal love. She was a divine goddess that he'd forever worship, forever cherish. She was everything: his heart and soul, his passion, his devotion, his music. Her beauty compelled him, captivated him. She'd unwittingly cast him upon her celestial spell, and Erik was forever inclined to acquiesce her every desire, her deepest pleasure, her secret fantasies. He wanted to give her everything.

"Christine," he whispered as he walked toward her, suddenly desperate to hold her, to touch her, to love her. He needed her, and he needed her now. He wrapped his arms about her waist, pressing her back against his chest, the evidence of his desire causing her to softly moan as she leaned against him.

"Erik," she breathed.

He murmured her name once more as he began kissing her neck, suckling her with his tongue, lightly biting her with his teeth, her soft gasps inflaming him.

"I want you, Christine," he declared as he slipped his hands over her chest and inside her cloak, laying both hands upon the ripe fullness of her breasts. "I need to be inside you once more."

Christine drew in a deep breath as he slipped his hands inside her bodice and began kneading her breasts, her nipples tightening shamelessly as he continued his erotic ministrations upon her.

"I need you, Erik. Please," she whimpered as he grasped her soft breasts in his hands.

Erik leaned his face in her hair, taking in the sweet and intoxicating aroma of her lush curls. He then removed his hands from her bodice, gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth slightly open, her ignited passion reflected through her slow and steady breaths.

Erik slowly began to untie her cloak as Christine watched him, her hazel eyes glowing with desperate need. She leaned toward him and gently bit his earlobe then laid her hand upon his white leather mask.

"Please," she quietly asked.

Erik let her cloak fall in a pool of darkness around their feet then took a small step back as he lifted his mask from his face and deftly laid it upon the fallen bench. Christine tremulously smiled then kissed his deformed cheek, wrapping her arms about his waist.

Erik groaned as she began kissing his throat, licking and biting as she slid her arms upon his chest and around his neck. Erik held her closely, causing Christine to moan as his engorged flesh pressed against her stomach. He slid his hands down her back, grasping her bottom and pressing her harder against him, silently pleading with her to become one with him once again. He wanted nothing more than to be inside her, to be complete within her, their souls united once more.

Christine shuddered as Erik began to sensually move his hips, grinding them against hers. He wanted her to be sure, to want this completely, to trust his love, his passion, for her. He wanted nothing more than to give her all the time she needed to refuse him.

She didn't.

Erik groaned as Christine slipped her hand between them and laid it upon his flesh, enticingly stroking him through his breeches.

"God, how I want you," he sighed as she continued her bold caresses. "Please, Christine, I couldn't bear it if you denied me."

Christine kissed his throat once more then looked deeply into his eyes.

"Never, Erik," she breathed as she stepped away from him and began untying the laces on the front of her bodice.

Erik watched Christine, his heart and soul in his eyes, as she undressed, her hands trembling as she did so. Erik knew she was afraid. But she was the bravest woman he'd ever known. He didn't believe she'd deny him now, knew she didn't wish to deny him. Yet he also knew how difficult this would be for her. In her mind she'd betrayed him by lying with another man, though Erik hadn't seen it that way and never would. Now was his chance to show her that he'd forever love her. That he'd forever need and desire her. But he also wanted her to know that she belonged with him and no other. She was his, they were one, and no other would come between them again.

Christine stood before him now, her naked glory leaving him breathless. The candlelight illuminated every curve, every secret, of her perfect body.

"You are exquisite," Erik told his luscious angel, a deep flush blooming upon her cheeks at his words.

He walked to her and caressed her breast. Christine breathed deeply, her body quivering beneath his simple touch. He caressed her side then stroked her stomach. He kneeled before her and kissed her navel then laid his head upon her stomach. She fiercely wrapped her arms around his head.

"Erik, please," she pleaded.

Erik kissed her stomach then stood before her. He began to slowly undress, carelessly tossing his clothes to the side as he keenly slipped out of them.

Both completely naked now, they stood in silence for a moment, both breathing heavily, Erik's manhood stirring against his stomach, Christine's nipples erect, both bearing the erotic silence as they prepared themselves for their fated and desired union.

"Christine," Erik rasped as he walked to her and grasped her face in his hands.

He kissed her tenderly, not wishing to upset her still, not wanting to frighten her. She sighed beneath his lips as he licked hers then slipped his tongue inside her mouth. He felt her tremble as she laid her hands upon his shoulder blades, digging her fingers within his flesh, pleading with him for more.

Erik reluctantly broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers. He then pulled away and kissed her forehead.

"Christine—"

"No," Christine whispered, shaking her head and laying a finger upon his lips. "Don't speak. Just love me, Erik."

Erik crushed her against his chest at her words, her bare skin upon his filling him with an impassioned and soothing desire. God, he had missed her love, her body. He was never letting her go again.

He caressed her back, her shoulders and arms, her hands, as she caressed his back and buttocks. Erik groaned and dipped his head within the crook of her neck as she grasped the back of his thighs, pressing him harder against her, his rigid erection throbbing between their trembling bodies.

Sudden ferocious and violent need swelled up within Erik as Christine's innocent touches became bolder. He grasped her bottom once more, pressing her against him in return then lifted his head and took her lips with a passionate kiss.

Christine moaned beneath him then wrapped her arms tightly about his neck as he kissed her harder, shattering his senses, and presumably her own, completely. Erik groaned deeply as she opened for him, allowing him to slip his tongue inside her once more, their tongues fiercely entwining.

Continuing their fierce and impassioned kiss, Erik slipped his hand between their inflamed bodies and laid it upon her secret flesh. Christine sighed as he cupped her gently, her sleekness thoroughly arousing him. He slipped two fingers inside her dewy flesh, causing Christine to break their kiss and press her head against his shoulder.

"Erik," she panted as he stroked her softly, his teasing fingers visibly driving her mad.

Unable to resist her any longer, her soft moans and heated pleasure enthralling him, Erik slid his fingers deeper inside her, stroking her honeyed flesh vigorously. Christine lifted her leg in response to his passion and wrapped it tightly about his muscled legs, her dancer's body offering another talent Erik had almost forgotten. She felt divine.

"Mmm," she moaned as he opened his fingers inside her, filling her deeper, her evidence of her desperate need wetting his fingers, her thighs. She lightly bit his shoulder.

Erik wrapped his free arm tighter about her waist upon her possessing response, kneading her bottom, forcing his fingers deeper inside her, weakening her.

Christine suddenly lifted her head from his shoulder and seduced him with her impassioned kiss once more. Erik hastily responded, grasping her head and deepening the kiss. He then quickly began pushing her toward the table.

He felt Christine go rigid as her bottom touched the table causing Erik to break the kiss and look intently into her eyes. They stared at another for a long while, their heavy breathing the only sound between them, his fingers solid inside her still, though not moving any longer. Her eyes intoxicated him, glittering with wanton desire.

"Take me, Erik," she breathed.

Erik wound his arm around her waist and lifted her up as her request burned through him, setting her upon the edge of the table, his fingers continuing their erotic ministrations once more.

Christine whimpered as he leaned toward her and licked her ear. She sighed in apparent disappointment as he removed his fingers from her moist flesh and laid his hands upon her thighs, caressing them slowly.

"Lay back and open to me," he commanded, his lust deep in his throat now, causing his voice to quiver with exciting yet terrifying need and desperation.

Christine wantonly obeyed, lying upon her back and opening her legs to him, her inflamed and wanting sex displayed before his eyes, his heated loins begging for release at the glorious sight of her. Erik bent and grasped her ankles, placing them upon the edge of the table. He gripped her hips, sliding her closer toward him, his thick, satiny length pressed against her soft and luscious flesh.

Erik groaned as he rubbed his swollen member against her slick and dewy womanhood, Christine closing her eyes and biting her bottom lip as he did so, her back arching.

"Erik, please," she moaned, her hands gripping the sides of the table, her body begging to be worshipped.

"Oh, God, yes," Erik succumbed as he gripped his aching flesh and pressed himself against her wanting threshold.

Christine gasped as he slowly entered her, their deep, soulful union now on the verge of completion. Erik thrust himself deeper within her quivering, silken flesh, causing Christine to cry out once more, her back lifting and arching upon the table. Erik gripped her hips hard, his flesh pulsing deep within her.

"My sublime angel, my divine goddess," Erik rasped.

He then suddenly found himself compelled to prolong her pleasure, wanting to show her through his commanding flesh, through his demanding body and soul, that only he could bring her upon the brink of passion only to steal it away from her, that only he could pleasure her and fulfill her deepest and darkest desires and fantasies, that she belonged to him and only him.

Erik sensuously smiled as he withdrew his hard flesh from her moist core almost completely, causing Christine to moan with discontent, her hands reaching out to him now.

"Erik," she sighed, "don't stop now," she pleaded, suddenly opening her eyes, their hazel depths reflecting such fiery passion, Erik found he was unable to control himself any longer, his body too helpless to resist her, his need for completion overwhelming him.

He groaned as Christine cried out as he surged within her once more, his thrusts becoming more powerful, more demanding.

"Harder, Erik," Christine moaned, her body aflame now. "Please, harder. Hurt me."

Erik furrowed his brows then pushed his disconcerting thoughts aside as he grabbed her shoulders and lifted her against him, his sweat drenched chest pressed firmly against her soft breasts, her nipples erect, he body burning with evident pleasure.

Christine clung to him, her head buried in the crook of his neck.

"Wrap your legs around me," Erik demanded, his voice rough with zealous abandon.

Christine immediately acquiesced, her legs wrapping around him pushing his engorged flesh deeper inside her. He began thrusting ruthlessly inside her, Christine's hips matching him thrust for thrust, their erotic rhythm of passion and desire devouring their souls, their joined bodies.

His sudden enraged and violent passion overcoming him, Erik grasped Christine's head and forced her to face him.

"Look at me while I take you. I want you to know who you belong to."

Christine moaned as she held his gaze, her eyes filled with such passion, with such pain, his heart wanted to break. Yet he wouldn't yield and knew Christine wouldn't either.

Erik roughly gripped her arms, knowing his commanding passion would certainly leave marks upon her in the morning. He roughly pushed Christine back, their bodies still entwined as he kneeled before her on the table, burying himself deeper inside her, their eyes still upon another.

Christine grabbed his buttocks, her legs still wrapped around his waist, and pressed him closer against her, pleading for him.

"Please, Erik," she moaned, looking desperately into his eyes. "Hurt me. I want you to hurt me."

Erik leaned over her and bit her earlobe, not wanting to hurt her as she demanded, but wanting to possess her completely.

"Christine," he groaned in her ear. "You hurt me."

"I know," she sobbed as he thrust harder within her, her back arching causing her breasts to press against him.

"Surrender to me, Christine," Erik commanded as he gripped her neck and angled her face so her eyes could see his engorged manhood immersed with her surrendering flesh. "Now," he said harshly, "look at me while I take you. You're mine."

Christine ravenously cried out as she complied with his possessing demand, watching their joined flesh as he thrust inside her again and again, Erik resting his chin upon the top of her head.

"You're mine, Christine," he roared once more. "There will never be another. Never," he groaned as he pushed himself further inside her, her feminine muscles tight upon his powerful flesh, bringing him closer to the brink of an eternal, fantastical passion he knew would always be his as long as he had Christine with him.

"No, Erik," she moaned as he continued violently thrusting inside her, their passion filled with such pleasure-pain Erik thought they'd both surely die from it. "Never," she vowed. "Only you," she gasped as he continued to slide home within her, her body succumbing to his erotic force, to his primitive male need.

Her hands clung to his shoulder blades now, her nails digging into his flesh, clawing his back, her head still beneath his chin as she watched his aching flesh become sated inside hers as he continued his rapacious thrusts, his animalistic mating.

Erik suddenly threw his head back as he finally found completion, his manhood exploding inside her, his seed an everlasting and irrevocable reminder of their joined souls, of his possession of her. Christine's head fell back too as she succumbed to him, her body limp with surrender beneath him, her legs falling beside his.

Erik fell upon her after a moment, their sweat drenched chests heaving against another. He kissed the plane between her breasts as he heard her heart slamming in her chest after a moment, his own heart soaring. He could still feel himself pulsing within her, his now sated flesh still one with hers.

Erik stiffened as he suddenly heard Christine softly weeping. He immediately lifted his head, only to see her tear filled eyes, her face, still flushed with passion, wet with her tears.

"Christine?"

Erik hooked his arm around her waist and slid them to the edge of the table. He stood once more, grasping her legs and wrapping them around him once more, reveling in the bliss of their entwined bodies. He didn't wish to let her go.

He grasped her face between his hands, his heart slowly crumbling as he felt her trembling beneath him, her tears flowing.

"Oh, angel," he whispered.

She suddenly clung to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders, pressing her soft breasts against his muscled chest. Erik fiercely wrapped his arms about her in return, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

"I love you, Erik," she cried as she held him closer. "Never let me go."

"Never, angel," Erik promised as he held her securely in his arms. "I love you for always."

They stayed like that for a long while, their bodies still joined, their deep, soulful union an everlasting peace that would forever consume them. Erik soon found himself crying too, his eternal passion and love for his innocent beauty terrifying him as he suddenly realized that nothing in this world, not his deformed face, not his haunting memories of his former despairing life, not even his damned soul, could be more agonizing than love.


	35. Through the Mirror

**Author's Note: Hello my lovely readers! I want to thank you all for reading and reviewing! It's wonderful! Also, I want to apologize for the delay in updates. Between the holidays and work and writing, life has been quite hectic! And I hate that I have only been able to update once a week or so and am hoping that will change once the holidays have passed :] Anyhow, please enjoy this chapter! And, of course, review! Thanks very much :]**

_**Chapter Thirty-Four: Through the Mirror **_

"Mmm," Christine sighed as she stretched her extremely sore naked body, her eyes fluttering open, as she succumbed to a blissful wakefulness, her cloak upon her body, Erik's beneath her on the floor.

Christine dazedly reached her arm out, wanting to touch the man who fell asleep beside her, wanting nothing more than to become enfolded in the strong and loving arms of her angel.

"Erik?" Christine proclaimed, jolting upright when she found herself alone.

She furrowed her brows as she looked upon the empty spot beside her on the floor then sighed with relief as she suddenly remembered Erik's soft whisper in her ear as he caressed her back and told her he would return within the hour. Where he'd gone, Christine hadn't a clue. She hadn't any idea how long he'd been gone either. She'd been too enthralled with her dreamy slumber to remember. But now she wanted him here with her. She needed him.

She looked about the dimly lit room from a candle Erik had left behind but found her eyes unable to adjust to the darkness. She hadn't a clue as to where she was.

She wrapped the cloak about her body and set her feet beneath her to stand, wanting to pursue and find Erik, to discover which room within the Opera House she was in. Her mind was incredibly befuddled.

"Oh," she groaned as she attempted to stand, ultimately unsuccessful as she fell on her bottom back onto the floor. "Well, then."

She slipped the cloak off her shoulders and began to massage her very sore thighs, her womanhood so incredibly sensitive from the night's exertions she felt as if more than Erik's insatiable passion, his erotically violent passion, had erupted inside her body, her soul. He'd been most powerful with her.

Christine slowly grinned, wrapping her arms about her now goose fleshed body, as she remembered Erik's ravenous possession of her body and soul, of her distraught mind. He'd truly been a man possessed, a fierce yet loving man wanting to purge his lover of the evil that had been wrought upon her petite body, her broken soul. A man who had saved her through his passion, through his love, a man who'd brought her within an everlasting sanctuary through his every caress, through his breathless whispers of desire and love, of completion. He'd given her everything.

He'd taken her roughly yet devotedly throughout the night upon the table on the stage, upon the stage floor, bent over the long bench, on the grand staircase, within the labyrinth of hallways, on her knees as he took her from behind, his hands upon her breasts, his throbbing erection and deft hands invading her soul as he slipped inside her slick folds between her legs.

He'd been ferocious, animalistic. He'd taken her with such vigor, such desperation, until her voice had become hoarse with her cries of passion, her sobs of wanton abandon. He'd taken her until her body had become so stimulated that his every touch, every thrust, his every impassioned breath made her quake and shiver with desire.

She'd been a woman possessed and had yearned, had _burned_, for every moment of it.

Christine laughed then sighed deeply as she thought of her fervently devoted angel. It had been a truly divine night, an amorously erotic night.

Christine began sensuously touching herself, her eyes closed, her head thrown back, as she began her own journey upon her body, touching every crevice, every mound, every valley. She groaned with a bittersweet pain as she succumbed to the aftermath of her and Erik's lovemaking, bruises upon her thighs, waist and hips, upon her arms, her lower backside.

"Oh, my," she sighed as she then looked upon her chest and breasts, her stomach, and discovered more evidence of their passionate lovemaking. She had various love bites upon her alabaster skin. She shook her head. "I can only wonder what marks I left on him. Now, if I only had a mirror…" she said amusedly to herself aloud as she looked about the room.

Christine suddenly drew in a sharp breath as she turned her head, only to find herself staring at her own reflection.

"The mirror," she breathed incredulously.

Christine suddenly felt very alone, her body chilled, as she looked upon the majestic mirror that had irrevocably bound her and Erik for eternity. She tremulously smiled as she recalled that impassioned night as she wrapped her cloak about her body and slowly stood upon her wobbly legs, wincing along the way, as she walked toward the mirror.

"Where are you, angel?" she quietly asked as she stood before the grand mirror, reaching her hand out to touch the clear, cold glass. "I need you with me."

Christine dazedly sat upon the floor in front of the mirror, her knees bent, her arms wrapped around them underneath her cloak. She rested her chin upon her knees and sighed.

She stared at the mirror for a long while as she recollected that haunting night, a night that had forever changed her life. It had haunted her dreams, her soul, for always. It had touched her so deeply, so profoundly, that she had feared then devoured the dark truth of her Angel of Music being nothing more than a man, and not the fantastical spirit her father had so animatedly spoken of when she was a child.

Her angel had been Erik, a man whom she felt everything with, a man who'd given her everything.

A man she would forever love and adore, a man whose passion and devotion promised an everlasting peace that she hadn't truly ever known.

*******

Erik entered the dressing room with food for breakfast to find a naked Christine sitting before the majestic mirror that had been the final threshold into their erotic journey of music and passion, her cloak wrapped about her body.

He slowly walked toward Christine, setting the bundle of food he'd furtively received this morning aside along with her bundle of clothes they'd abandoned on the stage from the night before, which he'd retrieved when he'd left to dress this morning. He stood behind her, his hands thrust in his pockets.

"I brought breakfast," he murmured, intently watching her as she stared distractedly at the mirror, as if she could see through it.

Christine inattentively nodded, wrapping her cloak closer about her body. Erik noticed she was trembling.

He walked toward his abandoned cloak upon the floor and wrapped it about her body over her cloak.

"You're cold," he said inanely as he sat behind her and wrapped his arms about her body, caressing her arms and waist.

He held her tightly after a moment as she leaned her head against his chest. Erik leaned against her, taking in the scent of her, her soft curls enveloping his senses. They were silent for a long while as Christine continued to stare at the mirror, Erik's hands caressing her gently for some time.

He laid his chin upon her shoulder and lightly bit her ear.

"Are you hungry?" he whispered, not wishing for her to dwell upon whatever thoughts had taken her away from him momentarily.

Christine shrugged her shoulders as their eyes met in the mirror. Her impassioned yet sad eyes worried Erik. Last night had been frighteningly powerful. He'd known he was being too aggressive, too passionately violent with Christine, but he couldn't help himself. He'd been a man possessed. His primal male need had turned into an animalistic ravishing of his innocent beauty, his divine goddess. He'd become a man obsessed with the woman who'd always possess his mind, body and soul. He'd ravaged her.

Erik softly groaned as his body succumbed to the memories of the night before, his manhood beginning to throb. Christine suddenly drew in a slow and steady breath as she obviously felt his stirring passion against her backside. She leaned closer against him and turned her head toward him.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, slipping his hands around her waist and slowly easing his deft hands beneath the cloak, her heated body pleading for his touch. "I want you."

Erik hummed pleasantly as he found her intoxicating threshold, her liquid core more than welcoming. He caressed her taut numb then slipped two fingers inside his angel as she opened to him then froze as he felt her wince.

"Did I hurt you?" he quickly asked, removing his fingers from her womanhood.

Christine turned to face him completely and laid her head upon his shoulder. She was silent for some time, wholly tormenting Erik's mind, causing him to slip their cloaks off her lithe body, evidence of their violently impassioned lovemaking from the night before upon her body now visible to him.

Erik miserably groaned.

"I did hurt you."

Christine said nothing as Erik caressed her arms. Both were covered with small bruises from his strong hold upon her as he'd vigorously took her throughout the dark night. She had a myriad of love bites upon her neck and breasts, her stomach, the inside of her thighs, and other valleys and mounds he hadn't quite remembered devoting his mouth and touch to. He'd been a madman, impassioned by her love, by her very soul.

Yet there had been more to his fierce passion. He'd wanted nothing more than to wash away the fright that the Duc de Pomeroy had implanted upon Christine. But he hadn't only wanted to cleanse away the Duc's flesh upon her, inside her, he wanted to rid her memories of Henri, though he'd never been inside her, he had still touched her mind and body, and Erik knew Christine was still haunted by it. He had seen the fear and trepidation in her eyes. It nearly destroyed him, and he wanted those men gone from her mind because of it.

She belonged with him, _only_ him, and Erik wanted her to know that she was his and no other's, that they would forever own and possess another, that no other man, or woman, would come between their irrevocably bound souls ever again. They were one.

Erik shook his head as he rubbed Christine's arms once more and leaned his forehead against hers.

"I am so sorry, angel. I never meant to hurt you."

Christine softly laughed as she laced her fingers with his and lay upon the floor, bringing him with her. She smiled and kissed him lightly as he lay beside her.

Erik grasped her face in his hands, ending her sweet kiss to stare fixedly into her sparkling hazel eyes.

"I never meant to take you with such fierce passion, with such power and possession."

Christine pressed her finger upon his lips then sheepishly looked away from him, her face becoming flushed.

"Well, actually," she slowly murmured, "I quite liked that part." She looked at him once more and leaned toward him. "Very much," she breathed, her lips brushing his.

Erik stared incredulously at her then grinned after a moment.

"You little vixen," he jested as he kissed her once more, his tongue caressing her bottom lip as she opened to him. "God, I love you," he breathed against her mouth. "So much my heart aches. I burn for you, Christine."

Erik felt Christine smile against his mouth. He pulled away from her to look ardently into her eyes.

She smiled sweetly, her eyes beaming with love and desire. She caressed his face then gently slipped off his white leather mask, which he'd put on before he ventured out into the city to receive food for the two of them. She laid it upon the floor beside them then kissed his deformed cheek.

"I love _you,_ Erik," she whispered into his ear.

Erik tremulously smiled then groaned. He rubbed his face in his hands as Christine pulled away from him, her brows furrowed.

"What is it?" she asked as she caressed his hair.

Erik leaned his forehead against hers.

"Oh, Christine," he murmured. "Still, I hurt you. I—" He swallowed hard as Christine lay on the floor once more, his eyes intently upon her. "I bruised you. I marked you," he said as he laid his hands on her body and began caressing her, tracing her bruises and his love bites with his hands and fingers. He glided his hands gently upon her arms, her chest and breasts, her stomach, hips and thighs.

Christine sighed as he leaned over her, his hands journeying his way back up her body. He kissed the valley between her breasts, then each breast, licking her taut nipples. He then lightly kissed her throat and nuzzled his cheek with hers.

"I hurt you, Christine," he softly repeated. "I—"

"Shh." Christine stopped him as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "You may have left your mark, Erik, but I am unhurt. I wanted you. I _needed _you." She slipped her hands through his opened white dress shirt and began tracing his back, her delicate fingers grazing him tenderly. "Besides, I'm not the only one left scathed. Feel what I've done to you, love," she whispered against his cheek as she traced the claw marks she'd left on his back. "See what I've done to you." She slowly sat up with him, turning their bodies toward the mirror.

Erik looked fixedly at their reflection in the mirror, smiling at what he saw, it being a man and woman in deeply and forever in love. It was hauntingly beautiful.

He swallowed hard as he bit back the tears that were beginning to eclipse his eyes.

"I enjoyed it very much, Erik," Christine purred after a moment as she leaned against his chest, causing Erik to shiver with desire.

Erik growled as he wrapped Christine in his arms, interlacing their hands.

"I have no control with you, Christine," he declared as he buried his face in her hair, never taking his eyes off her through the reflection in the mirror.

Christine smiled as she turned and kissed his cheek.

"I know this. Don't be afraid of me, Erik."

Erik kissed her briefly.

"Then you must also know I cannot deny you anything."

Christine giggled as she threw herself into his strong arms. Erik held her closely, their cloaks surrounding them in a pool of darkness around their entwined limbs, Christine's glorious nakedness enticing him.

"I know that, too." She rubbed her cheek against his. "Love me, Erik," she beautifully demanded.

"Always," he declared as he kissed her softly.

They continued loving another with lips and tongue until Christine's stomach rumbled. Erik laughed as Christine jerked away from him and laid her hands upon her stomach, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Hungry, darling," Erik teased as he laid his hand upon hers then bent down and kissed her navel as he took her hand in his.

"Very," she laughed as she kissed the top of his head.

Erik chuckled and stood as he swept Christine in his arms and walked her toward a chaise lounge, setting her down upon it. He quickly rubbed her arms when he noticed she was trembling.

"Perhaps you should dress first," he stated as he grabbed her bodice and gown and brought them to her.

Christine swiftly stood and held her arms above her head, causing her perfect breasts to lift, too. Erik softly groaned. His manhood began to throb once more as she innocently seduced him with her exquisite body. Erik lifted his eyebrow and stared fixedly at her, pleading with himself to stay in check. He simply couldn't take her again so soon. He could see the pain in her eyes brought on from the night before, though she tried to hide it. He felt her wince when he'd attempted to bring her upon the brink of an eternal pleasure once more, he'd felt it when he'd lifted her off the ground to bring her to the chaise lounge. He just simply couldn't hurt her anymore, no matter what she said.

"Well, aren't you going to dress me?" she pleasantly asked, invading his thoughts.

Erik chuckled as she stood closer to him. He kissed one of her breasts, betraying his mind and body completely, then pushed her long, silky tresses behind her shoulders, kissing her shoulders and throat as he did so. Christine sighed as he stood closer beside her, molding his body with hers. She laid her hands upon his thighs, caressing them. After a moment she slid her hands around and grabbed his buttocks, pressing his aching manhood against her stomach.

"Christine," Erik groaned as she continued caressing his backside. He slipped her bodice around her and stood slightly away as he began to tie its laces. "You do realize the torment you are bringing upon me?"

"I do," she simply admitted as she continued her journey, slipping her hand between her stomach and his now throbbing erection. She began rubbing him sensuously. "I want you, Erik."

Erik continued to lace her bodice as she continued her maddening ministrations upon him. She drew in a sharp breath as he began to tie the laces tighter, hoping she got the message. As much as he desired her, as much as he would always desire her, he knew her body wouldn't be able to handle his demanding flesh right now, though she continued to make it incredibly difficult to resist her unyielding temptation. At the moment he wanted nothing more than to throw her down upon the chaise lounge and bury his flesh deep within her until she cried out in a fiery passion he'd come to discover existed between them last night and throughout their myriad of trysts during the week they'd had together in the spring.

Erik groaned as Christine suddenly grasped him harder as he finished and reached for her gown.

"Christine!" he exclaimed as she fell to her knees and began untying his breeches. He grabbed her hands, stopping her.

She looked up into his eyes, her pouting lips and face weakening him. She reached up to him and laid her finger upon his lips.

"Let me do this for you," she seductively whispered.

Truly unable to deny her any longer, Erik kissed her finger then took it in his mouth as he succumbed to her passionate touch. After some time she removed her finger from between his lips then finished untying his breeches, taking his raging flesh in her hands. She looked coyly into his eyes one last time then boldly took him in her mouth, Erik moaning softly as sheer pleasure enveloped him.

*******

"You haven't said a word," Erik observed as he wrapped Christine's cloak about her body. He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. She looked curiously at him. "The mirror," he whispered as he kissed her briefly then turned her to face the majestic mirror that had inadvertently touched so many lives.

"Oh," she said simply.

They stood together in silence, both fully dressed and completely sated, in body and soul. Christine had been most attentive to his aching manhood and his release had been explosive. They'd enjoyed soft caresses and long, languorous kisses for some time after then indulged themselves in a pleasant breakfast together, teasing and talking of everything and nothing.

Christine suddenly turned in his arms and held him closely, burying her head against his chest, tearing him from his thoughts of only moments before. He wrapped his arms around her in return and rested his head upon hers.

"I want to go down there," she murmured after some time.

Erik tensed at her words then looked at their entwined bodies through the mirror. He'd returned to his Hell years ago, wanting to make peace with it, but never planning to do so again. His return had brought Berenice back into his life and a sense of peace had overcome him because of that. It'd brought him Meg, too, and then Christine. It'd been one of his wisest decisions, returning to his home of solitude and despair. But he'd promised himself he'd never return there again.

Yet, now as he stood with Christine, his arms wrapped fervently about her, he wondered if perhaps he hadn't made complete peace with it, if perhaps Christine and he should make peace with it together. He hadn't truly believed she'd want to go down there when she'd agreed to make peace with the Opera House.

_You fool,_ Erik scoffed as he berated himself. His lair in the depths of the Opera House was what truly started everything in regard to his and Christine's physical relationship. His world of darkness and deception, of solitude and despair, had been introduced to her through him. His home was everything. It had been where he'd first seduced her with his music then lost her with his madness.

Erik grimaced. There was no doubt of it. He and Christine had one last destination within this Opera House and though Erik loathed and feared the idea of bringing her down there once more, he knew it must be down.

Erik pulled away from Christine and cupped her cheek. He kissed her forehead.

"There's no going back now, Christine."

Christine grinned.

"You've been saying that a lot as of late."

Erik shrugged his shoulders and let out a long sigh.

"I suppose I just wish to remind you that you are forever mine, angel-love."

"And I wouldn't have it any other way," she simply declared as she kissed him fast and turned toward the mirror.

She stared at it fixedly for some time, her angelic face puzzled. Erik laughed as he laid his hands upon her shoulders.

"What is it?" he asked.

She peered over her shoulder at him and crinkled her nose.

"Well, aren't you going to open it?" she asked happily.

Erik stared at Christine disbelievingly. He hadn't even contemplated the idea that she'd wish to journey down to his former home through the mirror. He'd planned to take her through the catacombs and beyond the lake by an entirely different path.

"Christine, I—"

Christine vigorously shook her head as she turned to him.

"No, no, no," she laughed. "You cannot back out on this, Erik."

"No, of course not," Erik quickly defended himself. "I just thought that, well—" he stammered as she stared quizzically at him.

"You thought?" she indulged him.

"I thought perhaps I would take you down there through another way."

Christine shook her head, her mind clearly decided.

Erik cleared his throat.

"Well, then," he sighed as he squeezed her shoulders then walked past her. "Will you retrieve the candle while I open the mirror?"

Christine stared attentively at him for a moment, as if she were deciding whether she should trust him to open the mirror without her hovering over him. He knew she wanted his infamous secret.

Erik smiled charmingly at her, not quite ready to lose this battle.

"Please, sweeting."

Christine playfully bit her bottom lip then poked his chest.

"I thought we promised no secrets between us."

Erik raised his brows.

"You know you can't deny me," she harmoniously spoke. "You said so only moments ago." She stood closer to him. "And you cannot have forgotten what occurred after your amorous confession," she whispered in his ear, nibbling as she did so, her hand once more upon his sated flesh.

"No, I certainly haven't forgotten," Erik murmured, his body shivering with a newly awakened desire in which Christine could only stir. He walked toward the mirror, utterly defeated yet secretly enamored. "I implore you, my beloved, to watch me closely as I slide the mirror open."

Christine furrowed her brows and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Slide?" she dubiously asked. "It cannot be that simple."

Erik uneasily laughed as he slipped his hands behind the majestic brown and gold gilded frame about the mirror. He found the lever after searching for a moment, for he'd never actually opened the mirror from within the dressing room, and pulled it, a small click following quickly.

He heard Christine gasp as the mirror slowly slid opened. He turned to face her only to find her eyes wide with amazement and perhaps admiration, her mouth slightly open. Erik chuckled as he walked toward her and gripped her chin, gently closing her mouth. She didn't acknowledge him as he kissed her briefly then walked over to retrieve their only source of light.

When he turned toward the mirror once more Christine jumped into his arms and kissed him passionately. She pulled away after a moment, giggling profusely, then walked toward the mirror.

"Christine, wait!" Erik grasped her hand, stopping her as she walked toward the open mirror.

"What is it?" she softly asked as he set the candle aside and took her in his arms.

Erik swallowed hard and began caressing her back. Christine wrapped her arms tightly around him in return and laid her head upon his chest, their enlightened moods suddenly somber and serious.

"What is it, Erik?" she asked again after some time.

Erik gripped her chin and lifted her face until their eyes met. He drew in a sharp breath as he saw complete trust in her hazel eyes.

"Please, Christine," he murmured. "Tell me you're all right."

Christine smiled and shook her head.

"Erik, I'm all right, truly. You didn't hurt me. I promise you." She grasped his face between her hands and kissed him briefly then wrapped her arms around him once more, her head upon his chest again.

"Then—" He paused for a moment before continuing, slightly frightened of the answer to his next question. "Then, how do you feel, Christine?"

Christine softly laughed then kissed his throat. She looked up into his eyes again and smiled, her chin resting upon his chest, her face beaming, yet her eyes were filled with a deep and loving seriousness that touched Erik.

"Safe," she simply replied then kissed him once more. She entwined their hands and turned to walk with him to the mirror, Erik smiling all the while behind her.


	36. The Bride in the Mirror

**Author's Note: Hello all! I am deeply sorry for the _extremely_ long delay in updating this story! Life has gotten in the way and I am truly sorry! _Eternity_ shall come to a close soon, though I do plan on continuing Erik and Christine's story through another piece of writing, which will pertain to their new life together in a foreign land, which shall be revealed soon. I propose a couple more chapters, probably three at the most, though this chapter may seem to be the final one, it's not! There is so much more to be revealed between Christine and Erik. There are final goodbyes and unfinished business, too! So, please, bear with me, and I hope I haven't lost you all completely! Thanks for everything! And please, keep reading and reviewing! Thanks :]**

_**Chapter Thirty-Five: The Bride in the Mirror**_

Christine trembled as she grasped Erik's outstretched hand and carefully stepped out of the majestic boat. She stared wide eyed at the abandoned lair, dark and seductive memories filling her befuddled mind as she stood within it, Erik's arms now wrapped protectively about her waist as he steadied her upon the ground.

"I suppose you can't see a thing," Erik whispered in her ear as he simultaneously caressed her stomach, causing Christine to quiver with desire.

"No, I suppose not," she breathed.

Erik squeezed her waist then turned toward the boat and retrieved the single candle they'd brought with them as their guiding light. He'd lit the oil lamp that hung from the front of the boat and now seemed to go about lighting the myriad of candelabra that existed within his former home.

Christine wrapped her arms about her body as she attentively watched Erik deftly go about the lair illuminating the daunting darkness with the single candlestick. His keen eyesight and elegant motions never ceased to amaze her. He truly was a magnificent being.

After several moments, he finished, hastily returning to her and setting the single candle down beside the boat. He entwined his hands with hers and kissed her forehead. Christine nuzzled his neck and lightly kissed his throat in return then laid her head upon his chest.

Erik wrapped his arms tightly about her.

"Isn't as magical and fantastical as before?" Erik uneasily asked as he began caressing her back, "As mysterious, as dangerous?" He leaned his head toward her and nipped her ear, "As seductive?" he murmured with more confidence now.

Christine smiled against his chest and wrapped her arms about him, both falling into a seemingly golden silence.

"That night had been a fatal illusion," Erik sadly observed after a moment, his mood drastically changing.

Christine furrowed her eyebrows at his words and jerked her head up to face him, deterred by Erik's sudden change of heart.

"How can you say that?" she asked, exasperated.

Erik kissed her brow and smiled warily.

"Forgive me. I—" he began then abruptly closed his eyes and sighed, visibly overwhelmed. "Christine—"

"Hush, my love," Christine quietly spoke, laying a finger upon his lips. "It's all right. I understand."

Erik nodded his head and grasped Christine's face between his hands and kissed her briefly. Christine sighed sweetly as she tasted his warm lips then laid her head upon his chest as Erik wrapped his arms about her tightly. They stood in silence for another moment longer before Erik squeezed her softly and broke away from their blissful yet somber embrace. He turned toward his former home once more, observing it keenly.

Christine watched Erik intently, concern and curiosity sweeping through her thoughts. She bit her lip then caressed Erik's back before walking deeper within the lair, her curiosity finally getting the better of her. She smiled tenderly at Erik over her shoulder as she walked past him then turned and stopped abruptly, nearly tripping over the strangest object she'd ever known, had ever seen. An object that had distorted her entire vision of her Angel of Music the first time he'd revealed it to her that night all those years ago.

"Oh, God," Christine heard Erik quietly breath. Christine swallowed hard at his words, blinking her eyes profusely, desperately wanting to hide the tears that now eclipsed them, as Erik walked toward her and the inanimate object that had caused her innocent mind such confusion that night.

Erik bent down before it, his knees trembling, and slowly reached out to it, caressing its lifelike features, its face, its hair. He then pulled his hand quickly away, as if it burned him, and leaned helplessly against the dark and regal throne beside them.

"It's me," Christine whispered after moments of agonizing silence between the two lovers. Suddenly angry and utterly distressed Christine sat down beside Erik and grabbed the mannequin between her trembling hands. "Whatever were you thinking, Erik, when you created this? When you created me, an unmoving, unfeeling woman? I couldn't understand then, but now," she abruptly dropped the mannequin that had haunted her mind and took Erik's tormented face between her hands, "tell me, whatever possessed you?"

Erik pushed away from Christine and stood before her and the mannequin that resembled Christine perfectly. He ran a hand through his hair and began pacing the floor.

"I-I don't know. It's just a doll, Christine, nothing more." He stopped suddenly and stared down at Christine then once more at the mannequin. "A doll that had truly been a pale imitation to the flesh and blood woman I thought I'd never know." He admitted softly then rubbed his hands on his face. "God, I don't know, Christine."

Christine stood before him anxiously and crossed her arms about her chest.

"You do know, Erik. I know you do!" She bent and grabbed the replica and threw it upon the throne. "Please, tell me!"

They stood in silence once more, Christine's eyes burning through Erik's, her chest heaving with heavy breaths. She had never been able to purge the mannequin from her mind. It'd frightened her the night he'd abducted her through the mirror and mysteriously brought her down to his lair. Her innocent and befuddled mind hadn't allowed her to understand then. She'd thought it a little strange yet truly believed it to be Erik's way of expressing his feelings of her through this morbid yet incredibly fascinating art. Through his creation he'd found a profoundly unrealistic yet fantastical way to profess his wanting to be one with her, to love her, to wed her.

Christine shook her head and turned away from Erik, her thoughts churning in her mind. She'd thought it'd simply been a proposal of marriage, and perhaps it had. But she hadn't understood completely. Not then. She scoffed. _Perhaps never, _she thought miserably.

"I created it only months before I'd taken you through the mirror, Christine," Erik suddenly spoke, causing Christine to shiver at the sadness and regret in his voice. "It was during the time I had begun to devise an idea to bring you down here to stay with me, and live with me for eternity."

Christine slowly turned toward him as she heard the constant struggle in his voice. Tears filled Erik's eyes, causing Christine's heart to break. She walked toward him and laid her hand upon his bare cheek.

"Go on."

Erik let out a long sigh.

"I had this whole idea in my mind, Christine. I knew how to express my desire for you through my music and body, yet I hadn't known how to express my love and wanting of you as my companion…as my wife." He drew in a long breath then stared down at the haunting mannequin. He mockingly laughed. "I thought you'd be flattered once I revealed it to you. I couldn't fathom why you'd fainted after you'd seen it. God," he breathed as he turned away from Christine, "what a pathetic fool I had been." He threw his arms up in the air and began pacing once more. "I'd found the wedding dress in a Parisian shop one night. I'd stolen it, obviously," he confessed miserably after a moment. "When I'd seen it, I just knew it was meant for you and no one else, for us. I was once again a man possessed. I furtively broke into the little shop and took it, and then escaped down to my lair and endlessly began creating…my vision of you."

Christine closed her eyes at Erik's uneasy words and looked down at the mannequin.

"I was alone, Christine." Erik finally admitted.

Tears streamed down Christine's cheeks at Erik's words. She reached out and lightly caressed the mannequin's expressionless face.

"I know," she said simply as she pulled her hand away from the mannequin and went to Erik. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and laid her head upon his back.

Erik laid his hands upon hers. Christine held him tighter as she felt his body tremble.

"I had hoped it would give me the courage to finally reveal myself to you as a man. I desperately wanted you in my life, Christine. In my physical life," he said with more conviction. "I truly thought this creation of you, no matter how morbid, or how…beautiful," he shamefully whispered, "it had been, would give me all that I needed to bring you into my life. That doll made it feel as if you were there with me. I needed you."

Erik turned to face Christine and grasped her face in his hands.

"I never meant to frighten you. I was just a lost and lonely man, terribly tormented and utterly broken, and I needed you. This," he motioned his arm toward the mannequin that lay emotively upon the throne. "This was all I had."

"But, Erik, you had me. You—"

"No, Christine," Erik objected, pulling abruptly from her. He stalked toward the mannequin. He abrasively picked it up from the throne and shook it. "Perhaps I had your voice, your attention, your thoughts and dreams, but it wasn't enough! I wanted you! I needed you! I needed your touch, your caress, your body joined with mine. I wanted everything from you. So I created this false dream, this twisted dream. I had this divine image of you, of me. I wanted you for my wife. And so I dressed this doll up in the wedding dress and veil," he suddenly walked across the lair and bent and grasped the veil he'd forced upon her the night everything had ended between them, "and hoped and prayed to the God I didn't even believe in, that you would marry me and come away with me, that you would love me!"

Christine flinched as Erik walked toward her then threw the mannequin and veil across the room, causing them both to hit the throne and fall helplessly to the floor.

"Damn it," Erik roared as he ran his hands through his hair and abruptly walked away and dejectedly sat upon the bench of his organ. He laid his elbows upon the keys, not caring for the garish sounds it created, and laid his head in his hands and wept.

Christine laid her hand upon her chest, her breathing heavy, her face wet with tears. She truly hadn't meant to upset him. She hadn't meant to become angry with him. She knew he wasn't the same man from before, not completely. She looked down at the floor and shook her head, ashamed and upset with herself.

"Erik, I—" she began when a familiar sound began to play, causing a now bewildered Christine to furrow her brows and Erik to jerk his head up and face her, an agonizing look of pain enveloping him. "What is it?" Christine quickly asked as Erik stood from the bench and walked past her toward the throne and now abandoned mannequin.

Christine hurriedly followed Erik as he fell to the ground and pushed the mannequin and veil aside to reveal Erik's papier-mâché music box with a very fanciful monkey in Persian robes upon it. It was slightly disheveled and covered in dust but still working beautifully. Erik hastily cleaned it with his sleeve as it continued to play the reminiscent tune then sat it carefully upon the floor and quietly sang to himself.

_Just as before,_ Christine warily thought as she sat down beside him and laid a hand on his thigh. Erik laid his hand upon hers as he softly continued to sing. After a moment, Christine couldn't help herself any longer and found herself joining him, the lingering yet beautiful melody bringing a rush of wondrous yet terrifying memories to her mind, her heart.

The music finally stopped and Erik laid his hand upon the monkey's head then grabbed Christine and held her tightly in his arms, his embrace startling her.

"Christine, I love you," he cried, caressing her hair and back. "I love you so very much."

"Oh, Erik," Christine breathed as she held him close, soothing him with her own caresses, "I love you, too." She carefully pulled away from him and looked fervently into his tear filled amber eyes. "I'm sorry, Erik. I hadn't meant to upset you. Truly, I never meant—"

"I know, Christine," Erik spoke, stopping her as he wiped her tearstained cheeks. "I know. But this is what we came here to do, isn't it? I want nothing between us any longer. Whatever you wish to know, just ask. My secrets, my past, are yours."

Christine softly smiled then looked down at the music box, which had stopped playing. She gently touched it.

"This was the first time you ever told me you loved me." She uneasily laughed. "Yes, you demonstrated your love many times before, but you never _told_ me you loved me. You never said the words. Not once. Not until I briefly returned to you with your ring." Christine grasped her left hand and began to twist Erik's gold ring about her finger. She bit her lip. "I almost stayed with you because of those words."

Erik miserably groaned.

"Oh, Christine," he murmured. "How I wanted you to." He wrapped his arms around her waist and brought her to him once more. "How I wanted you for always."

Christine wrapped her arms around Erik in return and began crying against his chest.

"I love you, Erik."

"I know that now, angel. I think perhaps I've always known it."

Christine smiled as she looked up into Erik's eyes.

"I truly hope so," she whispered then kissed him sweetly.

Erik grasped her face and kissed her passionately in return then licked and bit her bottom lip as he pulled away causing Christine to smile mischievously. She giggled lightly as Erik swept her up in his arms and stood.

"Well," he sighed as he set her down carefully on her feet.

"Well," Christine pleasantly repeated as she leaned against Erik, the mood suddenly lightened.

Erik kissed her forehead then began to walk about the lair.

"I'm sure we have much more to discover, wouldn't you say?" he asked as he walked over to his organ and caressed it gently.

Christine stood silently as she watched Erik fixedly, her mind twisting and turning as she felt compelled to wonder if Erik truly found courage through a replica doll to confront her, to reveal himself to her, or if it had been something…or someone, else. She shook her head as Erik sat down at the organ and flexed his fingers, clearly readying himself to play. She didn't wish to think of the sorrow anymore, of the possibility of the past, a past that could never be changed, that would never die. Yet there was one question that consumed her still.

"Erik?" Christine called to him as he began to play, slowly falling into a dream, a reverie of passion and love.

"Hmm?" he responded, his eyes closed, his mind completely possessed by his music.

Christine drew in a deep breath as she wrapped her arms about her body and began pacing. After some time she stopped and stared deeply at Erik.

"Would you ever have revealed yourself to me as a flesh and blood man if Raoul hadn't come back into my life?" she simply asked.

Erik stopped playing immediately and turned toward Christine, his expression one of absolute disbelief, causing Christine to feel a foolish child once more. She shook her head and looked down at the floor, utterly ashamed.

"Forgive me," she said ever so softly. "I don't know what I was thinking." She bit her lip as she looked up at Erik once more. "It was silly of me to ask. Forget I ever said anything."

Erik stared at Christine for a long while then stood from the organ and strode toward her. He gently took her chin in his hand and forced her to look into his eyes.

"Christine, darling, what do you think?" Erik asked, the seriousness in his voice frightening Christine.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I truly don't know." She looked over her shoulder and down at the mannequin. "It can't simply be through that doll. It just sounds…oh, I don't know, Erik," Christine breathed, completely frustrated with herself now. "I suppose I'll never truly understand."

Erik softly smiled and took Christine in his arms.

"Neither will I, angel. But," he said firmly as he grasped Christine's shoulders and looked ardently into her eyes, "I promise you, I would have revealed myself to you, even if Raoul had never come back into your life. I meant what I said, love. I needed you, Christine, I wanted you in my life for always. I love you."

Christine tremulously smiled and took Erik's face in her hands. She kissed him briefly.

"I love you, too."

They embraced another once more, gently caressing the other's back as they fell into an idyllic silence.

"Christine, darling," Erik finally began, furrowing his brows as he released himself from her arms and walked toward the throne. He bent down and carefully picked up the veil once more, holding it closely to his chest, to his very heart it would seem. "Whatever happened to the wedding dress?"

"Oh," Christine simply responded as she felt her face become heated with a flush she hadn't wished to expose. She uneasily smiled. "Erik—"

"No, no, never you mind," Erik suddenly blurted out, visibly disturbed by her possible answer. "I don't think I wish to know." Almost trancelike, Erik caressed the veil, just as he'd done all those years ago as Christine left with Raoul in the boat, and then laid it gently upon the throne.

Christine smiled as she walked toward him and laid her hand upon his back, causing Erik to turn and look sadly into her eyes.

"I still have it, Erik," Christine murmured.

Erik's eyes widened.

"What? But how?" he asked, completely floored. "I don't understand. What of Raoul—"

"Hush," Christine breathed, laying her hand upon Erik's lips. "He thinks it doesn't exist any longer. But, I hadn't the heart to get rid of it." She let out a long sigh. "It is a secret between me and a maid I trusted with all that I am." Christine smiled as she shook her head. "She was more of a confidante then maid, actually. No matter. She locked it safely away within our…Raoul's home," Christine admitted sheepishly, silently cursing herself for her blunder. "Every so often I would steal away to its hiding place and simply look at it." She uneasily laughed. "Nights were the hardest for me when it would come to thinking of you, Erik, of wishing it were your arms I was in and not my husband's. But that dress brought back such memories I couldn't seem to rid myself of. It was all I physically had left of you. Oh, I don't know," Christine finally stopped, unable to continue any longer. "Please, I don't wish to speak of that…doll," she looked over at it laying on the ground, "or dresses or veils or anything—"

Erik stopped Christine's words with a kiss.

"I don't wish to either, angel-love. I'm not that obsessive man any longer. No more dolls. I promise."

Christine smiled, glad for the slight jest.

"I know. I'm glad."

Erik gently squeezed her shoulders then went and sat before his organ once more. He began to play, his song soothing Christine's tormented soul. These confessions had been extremely exhausting yet utterly refreshing. Yet Christine knew that once their pasts were truly unlocked and nothing was left undiscovered between them and their love any longer all would be put right between them. They would truly be able to leave this place behind and start life anew with another.

Christine let out a long, sweet sigh and stretched her arms above her head then ventured throughout the lair as Erik continued to play, her journey bringing her to the bedroom. Her attention immediately fell upon the rather large bed which was placed in the center of the rather small yet luxurious room. It was an exquisite bed, its Persian bedding and canopied curtains bringing out a lush and extravagant ambiance to the room. It was divine.

Unable to resist any longer, Christine sat upon the bed then lay flat upon it, letting out another long sigh. Within moments she was asleep.

***

Erik smiled pleasantly as he watched his sleeping angel. She was truly darling. He walked toward her and softly stroked her hair then leaned in and kissed her lightly on the forehead. He chuckled to himself as she drew in a sweet sigh then rolled onto her side and curled herself into a ball. He then lifted the Persian comforter and laid it upon her body.

He'd lost himself completely in his music and hadn't realized that Christine had drifted off into a languorous sleep until he'd felt the urge to do so himself. Finding Christine sleeping, her exuding innocence astounding him, had left him utterly helpless. She was truly compelling.

He didn't wish to fight with her any longer. Their discussion of his brief past with the mannequin he'd foolishly created had nearly destroyed him. That creation had been one of the darkest moments in his life yet he hadn't truly thought it would cause such trouble. Erik sighed deeply and shook his head as he carefully sat down beside Christine on the lush bed.

He was certainly an obsessive monster all those years ago, and though there was much he regretted when it came to his dark life and his time with Christine, he still couldn't help but wonder if he hadn't been so very passionate for Christine, so very powerful toward her, that he would never have truly had her.

For what if he had been passive? What if he'd remained in the shadows as the Vicomte wooed her as the dashing young man he'd become, no longer the innocent little boy he'd once been. What if he'd always remained her fantastical Angel of Music? If he'd never revealed himself as the flesh and blood man he truly was, then perhaps he and Christine never would have discovered the erotic beauty that existed between them. She would had fallen in love with Raoul once again and married him without any thought about Erik as a man, without any inkling of the physical relationship that had bloomed and consumed them. For it would have never existed. A then what would have become of her beloved Angel of Music?

Erik softly groaned and laid his hands in his face. _She would have left you still._ That dark thought haunted Erik. The Vicomte would never have allowed her to continue her career upon the stage, not as his Vicomtesse. Once married Christine would certainly have left the confines of the Paris Opera House, and Erik would never have seen her again.

Erik shook his head at the thought then looked down at Christine.

"You're only fooling yourself," he whispered, as he caressed Christine's brown curls once more.

He would have followed her anywhere. He would have still come to Christine in her dreams, in the night, whilst she was the Vicomte's wife. He would still always be there inside her mind. She just never would have known the flesh and blood man, and that thought devastated Erik.

No, despite his particular regrets, he would never regret vying for Christine's love, for revealing himself to her. _Never,_ he thought indubitably as he entwined his hand with hers, closed his eyes and slowly began to drift off into sleep.

"You never touched me that night."

Erik hastily shook his head and stared down at a now awake Christine, his mind slightly dazed.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, his mind slightly puzzled.

Christine sweetly smiled then sat up beside him, laying her hand upon his cheek.

"That night when you first brought me here," she continued. "Once I'd fainted…you never touched me while I slept."

Erik tremulously smiled and laid his hand upon Christine's cheek.

"No, I didn't. But how could you know?"

Christine shrugged her shoulders.

"I would have known," she said simply.

Erik grasped Christine's face in his hands completely.

"I never would have touched you against your will, Christine. Never," he said fervently.

"I know, Erik."

"And, though you don't wish to speak of certain things any longer, I do want you to know that I never touched that doll, either."

Christine's eyes widened, as if that thought hadn't even crossed her innocent mind.

"Erik, I never…I don't even know what to say. I couldn't even fathom that idea. I—"

"Hush, sweeting." Erik spoke, stopping an extremely flustered Christine. "Perhaps you're more innocent than you still imagined," he lightly teased.

"Perhaps so," she sighed, her cheeks covered in a charming blush. She let out a long breath and laid her head on his shoulder. "I dreamed of you," she candidly stated after a moment, changing the uncomfortable subject completely.

Erik smiled.

"I always dream of you, angel." He kissed her hand lightly.

Christine shook her head and looked up into Erik's eyes.

"No, no," she protested. "It wasn't just any dream of you. It was of that night, the night of your opera."

Erik briefly closed his eyes, hoping to all that was good that this particular incident in their lives wouldn't come up again. He cleared his throat.

"And?" he reluctantly indulged her.

"And," Christine began, "where is the dress?"

Erik stared down at her, utterly baffled.

"I thought you didn't wish to speak of dresses any longer? And what dress are you speaking of now?"

"The dress you created for me, silly!" She giggled as she lifted a pillow in her hands and playfully hit him with it. "Aminta's dress," she continued. "And don't play coy with me, darling. You know very well which dress I'm speaking of. It must still be in this room. After all—"

Erik laid his hand quickly upon her mouth, knowing exactly what memory she was just about to indulge in, a memory that certainly didn't convey one of his better moments.

"Oh," he said noncommittally, "that dress."

"Yes, _that _dress." Christine said firmly as she pulled away from him then giddily jumped from the bed and began looking furiously about the room. "Now," she spoke thoughtfully to herself, "wherever could it be? If I remember correctly—"

"Christine, please," Erik began to protest as he stood from the bed, "let's not do this. Not now." He rubbed his forehead, oddly terrified of this dress and yet strangely curious of what his beloved was up to. He began furiously pacing the room, not noticing the moments of silence that had passed him by. "I—where have you gone?" he suddenly asked as he noticed Christine had disappeared after a long while. "Christine?"

"Tell me, Erik."

Erik turned on his heel as Christine's voice filled the bedroom once more. His eyes widened.

"My God," he breathed. "You are beautiful."

Christine satisfyingly smiled, her hands upon her hips. She looked utterly divine, an exotic angel dressed as the innocent seductress, Aminta. A dress that he'd created for her for the opera he'd created as an artistic expression of their passion and love. A dress that certainly displayed the passion and seduction he'd created for them. Its coloring of pink and black along with its erotically entangled laces and designs, which exuded Christine's luscious curves, enticed Erik the night of his opera, and it certainly enticed him now. He trembled as he stared at his striking ladylove.

"Tell me," she subtly repeated as she strode toward him.

Erik swallowed hard and thrust his hands in his pockets, suddenly very shy.

"Yes?" he indulged after a moment, utterly beguiled by his seductive angel.

"That night, when you'd forced the wedding dress upon me…"

Erik looked down toward the ground as he was reminded of that hideous moment. God, he certainly had been a monster, forcing her to undress, forcing her to…love him.

"Did you peek, hmm?" she sweetly asked as she laid her finger under his chin and forced him to look in her glowing eyes. She was smiling, for God's sake!

"W-what?" Erik asked, absolutely dumbfounded. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean," she continued as she turned and walked toward the bed. She sat upon it most temptingly, leaning back upon her elbows, her eyes never leaving his. "Did you watch me undress that night? It's a simple question."

Erik lifted an eyebrow, suddenly catching on to her game of seduction. He walked slowly toward her then bent and crawled over her, causing her to lay flat on the bed. He breathed softly in her ear as she lay trapped beneath him, his body not quite touching hers, his hands on either side of her head.

"Whatever do you think, my dear? If I had no desire to touch you against your will, do you honestly believe that I would watch you undress?"

Christine demurely smiled as she slipped her arms about his neck, Erik forever grateful that she was turning an obsessively monstrous time in his life into a foolishly blissful moment.

"Well, you did abduct me through my mirror, watched me through my mirror. One can only wonder—"

Erik broke her words with a kiss, laying completely upon her now. He wedged her thighs apart with his knee and continued to devour her with his kiss as he wrapped his arms beneath her lithe body, crushing her against him. Christine moaned.

Yet he broke the kiss as soon as he'd began, breathing heavily, his and Christine's lips bruised by his impassioned kiss.

"You know very well the answer to that, you heartless tease." He leaned his forehead against hers as Christine slipped her arms down his stomach. "Very well," he groaned as Christine stroked his throbbing member.

"Do I, hmm?"

Erik cocked an eyebrow as she continued stroking him, testing him, it would seem.

"Yes," he said simply as he closed his eyes and reveled in her tormenting touch.

"Yes, I do," she whispered in his ear. "But, I'd like to think that you couldn't help yourself. After all," she untied his breeches and slipped her cold hands inside, grasping his raging erection. Erik groaned. "You are a man, and I, a woman. How could you possibly resist?" She teased.

Erik bent and kissed her neck, suckling it gently.

"Yes, how could I resist you, my love?" He conceded, taking her lips once more, his body and soul once more consumed by her everlasting passion.

"Erik," she breathed, as he deftly untied the laces to her bodice, "I want your every fantasy fulfilled, darling, your every desire, your every wish. I want you. I want to finally let your dream begin, our dream." She took his face in her hands. "I love you. Take me, as your Angel of Music, as your Aminta, as your Christine. I'm yours."

Tears eclipsed Erik's eyes at Christine's endearing words. He kissed her lightly.

"Forever, angel, for always," he whispered, tears streaming down his face as he embraced his eternal angel.


End file.
